Incorruptible Marionettes
by Juliana Day
Summary: Three years after the war that took Prim away, when Katniss can no longer call Peeta hers, a reunion with the boy with the snares, a message from the president, the resurfacing of the subject of the final Hunger Games, and an urgent possibility from her not-so-distant past threaten to unravel the life she has been carefully rebuilding for herself. Post-MJ, pre-epilogue.
1. Real--For How Long?

"Real."

How long that word held the truth, I don't know. I was happy. Slowly and painstakingly, I let go of my ugly past, and forced myself to stare only straight ahead, where I imagined a wonderful future with the boy with the bread. I didn't end up living that dream, though.

I was convinced that I loved Peeta Mellark. It was true for an indefinite amount of time, when everything else lost its meaning because I was determined to believe that I would finally have a happy ending.

Wrong.

If you could fall out of love, I'm sure that's what happened to me. I ended up yelling at him every time. Peeta ended up falling under the spell of some girl he met from who knows where. I apparently wasn't good enough for him. But I tried to salvage what little affection we still had for each other. He apologized. I accepted.

We patched up our relationship for a little while, but it already had several and cracks on it, threatening to break anytime. My nightmares, which I thought would never be back, haunted me again, and I suffered from a depression like never before. Things like that really do happen to people who obviously had enough violence, gore, and pain. I became a cold, heartless creature. Peeta's flashbacks hit hard and there were many days when he screamed profanity and even more terrible things at me. At first, I tried to understand, but eventually, I just yelled louder. We grew farther and farther apart.

When I woke up one day, I thought, _we'd both had enough_. I was hurt, and he was, too. Consciously or not, we broke each other's heart.

Peeta Mellark had been thinking the same thing.

We parted ways in a matter-of-fact and shorthand way. Dull. Unfeeling.

Only after our breakup did I feel my heart shatter into pieces. No matter how I pretended, I was crushed beyond repair. I was sure that I didn't love him anymore, and everything we had was over, but why do I feel like this?

Maybe because of the many wonderful things we could have been. Maybe because I got too attached to him, that when he left, the pain was unbearable.

But I was the mockingjay. I was a victor. I survived the Games, a war, and the deaths of the people I loved. I definitely would pick my life up and put it back on track. I wouldn't wither and die. I'd make things right with myself again, no matter how hard. Pretend that everything I had with Peeta was nothing but a nightmare that was really good and bad at the same time that I had to wake up from it to face reality again.

Because that's what I do. Always pretend and never look though I've never been good at it, I try hard to do it, because that's the only way to move forward and get a grip on things. I swear I'll move on. Because I could, and because I couldn't stand this kind of pain.

So, I guess this isn't going to be a story about me and the boy with the bread.


	2. Rain and Tears

Dawn is breaking when I wake up. Rubbing sleep off my eyes, I get up, and in a few minutes, am dressed in a green shirt, trousers, and hunting boots. I stick my hair in its usual braid and drape my father's jacket over me.

The warmth this jacket provides soothes me. Makes me feel okay. At least, for the moment.

I step out of the house and feel the early morning breeze on my skin. I'm always the first person who wakes up in the Victor's Village. It isn't hard to tell; because of the twelve fine houses here, only three are occupied. Haymitch, Peeta, and I live alone. We stopped talking entirely a few months back, because for some reason, we make each other sick. The rest of the district is alive, though. Residents work in the factory for medicine and get paid considerably. People don't go hungry anymore, which makes me happy. It feels nice to think that they're recovering, and it makes me forget my own misery a bit.

I go to the woods, where a gate now stands, a huge imposing structure that serves as the barricade between the districts and the dangerous animals that prowl the forest. Hunting there is no longer illegal, but, enter at your own risk. If you get in and never came back, the officials would not be held responsible. It's not much of a rule, because I'm the only person who still hunts in there, even if there are affordable chicken and beef in the market.

The woods lull me into thinking that there is still some part of my being that is intact and unexploited. It gives me sanity on particularly bad days. It feels like home.

My bow and arrows are stashed in a hollow log near the entrance, and I pick them up on my way.

I lose myself in hunting. Using a steady, silent tread, I venture in the woods, and by afternoon, I have five squirrels, a rabbit, and a small wild turkey to show for it. I snack on the berries I picked on my way to the squat little stone house where I usually skin the carcasses and get rid of the entrails.

And then I see him.

I have to look twice to prove that I'm not hallucinating. There. Sitting on the rock ledge that was our rendezvous place before.

An odd mixture of emotions boils inside me. Guilt. Anger. Remorse. Longing.

He turns, and my heart almost skips a beat. It really is him. My game bag slides off my shoulder and falls to the ground in a _thump._ The wild turkey I was dragging slips off my fingers. My hands inexplicably clench into fists. My feelings are in a whirl, but I manage a steady voice when I say, "Hey."

Gale Hawthorne stands up and shyly holds out his arms into me. I don't run into them. They fall back to his sides and he's evidently disappointed. I don't know what to do.

He hugs me anyway. I tolerate it. He never lets go. Begins talking in my ear.

"I'm sorry, Katniss. For everything. I'm so sorry."

Everything. His association with the bomb that killed my little sister. His not shooting me when I so wanted to die. His leaving without notice.

"Why?" is all I ask.

"I'm sorry. Please forgive me. That's all I want to tell you." He says sincerely.

"Where have you been all those years?" I ask, pulling away from his tight embrace.

"I was in Two. They gave me a job there. As much as I didn't want to stay there, I knew I had to leave you, to give you space. You have Peeta, anyway. I figured I was no use to you at all."

I look at him straight in the eye. I see nothing but pain.

"At first, I thought I could forget. But I did not. So I came back."

I assess my thoughts. I don't exactly hate him, but I can't welcome his presence, because every time I think of him, I am punished with a sight of a burning Prim. She burns on through my nightmares. I don't want to be reminded of that horror. I stay silent, thinking of the right words to say, but I just end up with, "Come on. Let's hunt."

Even though I already have enough game, I figure it's the most right thing to do. It turns out to be true. It feels good, hunting with Gale again, having someone watching my back, chatting about this and that, but the tension is obvious. We don't laugh. We don't talk about our personal lives.

We hunt the whole day, and by sunset, my stomach is grumbling, having eaten only a couple of nuts and berries, and we're loaded down with game. We're about to go out the gate when Gale stops in his tracks, as if forgetting something. He tells me to wait and disappears behind the trees.

I'm becoming annoyed with waiting when a pair of hands covers my eyes from behind.

"Hey!" I protest.

"I'll let go if you promise to close your eyes," Gale says.

"What?"

"Close your eyes," he commands, and removes his hands from my face. I shut my eyes obediently. "Open them now."

I can't help but smile. He's holding a bunch of freshly picked wildflowers. Purple, yellow, red. "For you," he says, handing the flowers to me.

"What's the occasion?" I ask stupidly, because I really don't know. The flowers smell wonderful.

"Happy birthday, Catnip," he says.

"My birthday?" I say. "Wow. I didn't know."

I honestly can do without birthdays, but I appreciate Gale's gift. Really.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Hey, it's getting dark, you should be home."

"I'm twenty years old, Gale."

"Peeta will be looking for you. Hey, don't tell him you got the flowers from me. Might send him to a fit," he jokes.

"Peeta and I aren't together."

It's the first time I said it aloud. I expect Gale to break into a thousand-watt smile, but his face is clear from any emotion.

"What? You sure?" he asks warily.

"Why not? 'Course I am," I say stiffly.

I can feel my heart twisting into painful knots. What the hell? Out of nowhere, tears pour out from my eyes.

Heck.

It's been a year, Katniss Everdeen! Why are you crying? Why?

Get over it, Everdeen. Get over _him._ You're over.

But my eyes insist on crying. It feels like an old wound has been reopened, and I just can't make the blood flow stop. As much as I don't want to admit it, I had been lost in love with Peeta. Life without him is hard beyond belief.

But how can I say that to Gale? I'd be responsible for breaking the heart of another young man again. I'm tired of making anymore crimes.

Gale holds me tight. I hesitate for just a moment before I hug him back.

He pulls away and takes my hand. "Come on. I'll walk you home."

Rain has started to fall as we walk. Except for the pit pattering of the rain on the ground, everything is silent. Tears quietly slide down my cheeks. We reach my house soaking wet, and my eyes are entirely dried out. No more danger of tears now.

I wonder what Gale thinks. He seems genuinely unmoved by my news. He's not trying to make me hate Peeta more than I already do, reel me in, the way I expected him to act. But, no, he's not even talking.

He releases my hand and plants a kiss on my forehead.

"You still love him, Katniss. You still haven't forgiven me. I don't know if you'd like to leave it at that or not, but I'll always be waiting. You can always talk to me," he says.

I don't reply.

He turns to leave, but at the last moment, I thank him for the flowers.

"No problem." Gale faces me again and he says quietly, "I don't know if there's any point in saying this again, but know that I'm sorry for everything, and I'll always love you. More than you'll ever know."

And then he goes, alone and silent, into the dark street, under the pouring rain.


	3. The Call

I don't hunt today. I've got a mild fever and a wicked headache from walking in the rain yesterday, and I'm feeling sluggish. I don't want to do anything at all today, except maybe burrow deeper under my blanket because of the cold brought about by the rain.

I try not to think of my unexpected meeting with Gale yesterday, because it raises a multitude of questions in my head, questions that I don't really want to find the answers to.

I'm about to doze off again when a sound snaps me back to my senses.

_R-i-i-i-i-i-i-n-g! R-i-i-i-i-i-i-n-g! _

The telephone. It hasn't been used for a long time now, because I never had cause to call anyone, and no one ever called me, too. My mother is working at a hospital in District Four. She never calls. Not that I'm complaining. Don't get me wrong, please. It's just that I have grown used to being alone. Any contact from my past would bring nothing but bitter memories. And I'm sure my mother feels the same.

I stagger to the phone, tripping over my feet twice, and by the time I reach it, the ringing has stopped. _What an offend reason to rouse me from my sweet slumber._ I resist the urge to tear it off the wall and send it flying out the window, and slug to the kitchen instead, where I drink a cup of tea.

I'm at the foot of the stairs when the phone starts ringing again. I almost sprint to it, knowing I'd be furious if I miss it the second time. Fortunately, I don't. I speak to the receiver in a polite manner, and it's good I did it, because it would've been rude if I yelled at President Paylor's ear.

"Ms. Everdeen, I called to personally tell you that the people of Panem already miss their mockingjay."

I laugh, marveling at the most ridiculous thing ever. "I beg your pardon?"

"I didn't see it coming, either. Now, I'm requesting you to come to the Capitol for a public appearance. The women and children are most eager to see you. And, it will also be a perfect opportunity to discuss the final Hunger Games," says Paylor.

"Hunger Games?" I ask.

"Yes, the Hunger Games. For the children of the Capitol officials."

I have forgotten all about that. "Uh, okay? But I thought we wouldn't do that anymore," I say.

Paylor is silent for a while, no doubt working up the most fitting response. "It was never discussed after former President Coin's…demise," she says, choosing her words wisely. No good reminding both of us that I killed the former leader of then-newly-Capitol free Panem. "But three years have passed, and the children are still held captive."

The phone receiver trembles in my hand. "_What?"_

"Yes, Ms. Everdeen. We have disposed of the ones older than eighteen, but the rest…I'm afraid I cannot pass judgment."

"You cannot pass judgment?" I am yelling. "You're the president of this country and you cannot pass judgment?"

"Ms. Everdeen, do be calm. I apologize; I have chosen my words poorly. Of course I can pass judgment, and my decision, without a moment's hesitation, is to punish them. But I thought, these are just children. Why should they suffer for the crimes their parents have committed?" Paylor stops speaking.

I reach for a chair and sit, suddenly feeling drained. "But the Hunger Games _is_ a form of suffering," I say, remembering my own experiences in the arena.

"That's what I stand for. But my advisers and council members are growing restless. They want blood. Word has gone out that the remaining victors, along with President Coin, had decided on staging the final Hunger Games for these children. It was forgotten, of course, with all the mayhem after. But, as I said, there has recently been a leak of information."

Who would spill the information? It was supposed to be confidential? I am just forming the words when it hits me: _Enobaria._

She has stayed in the Capitol after the war. She must have been feeding insider information to Paylor's people. Among us victors, she is the bloodthirsty one. Of course. She still wants revenge. Even after three years. That's sick, for one who belongs to the lapdog district of the Capitol.

"It's Enobaria, isn't it?" I ask, keeping it short.

"Yes. The unrest is growing, Katniss. They want a decision. I don't want to throw my weight around on this particular situation. I personally would not have anything to do with this, but we are a _democracy,_" she says.

"Okay. So why do you need me?"

"I want you to make the decision for me." Paylor's voice is stiff. She's worried about her image, I realize. But I'm not sure. Politics confuses me. All I understand is she wants _me _to _pass judgment _on this. I thought we were a democracy?

"Are you kidding me?" I ask, pretty certain I sound incredulous. "Because you know what? I'm done. I don't care what you do, but I'm out of this." Then I hang up, a rude gesture, but I am beyond caring.

The phone doesn't ring again. My head is pounding. So I drag myself back to my room, settle on the bed, cover myself with blankets, and close my eyes. Sleep comes easy.

The memories burn through my closed lids. They are back.

Once again, there is Prim, below me on the snow covered ground. Her body is shrouded in tongues of fire. She falls and thrashes around, trying to extinguish the flames. No one helps her. I can smell the smoke. I can see the fear and panic in her eyes. It is her last moment, I know it, and she's alone. Even _I _am not there to save her. She makes no sound. But I do, because I am screaming, I am crying. I have seen that my own body is burning.

The scene changes and I am standing with Prim on a hill overlooking the sea. She is two steps in front of me, and she has her back on me, but I know it is her. I stare at the ocean, at the churning of the waves near the shore, and decide I should strike up a conversation.

"Prim," I begin, and at the same time she says, "Katniss."

We say, "Yeah?" at the same time, too, and that causes us both to laugh. But her laugh is different. She sounds like her throat has been scraped raw. And then she coughs, a horrible heaving sound.

"Are you alright?" I ask.

She coughs a little more, then says, in a gravelly voice, "Yes, Katniss. I am alright. Are you?"

"No," I admit. Then I tell her about my conversation with Paylor.

"Make the decision, Katniss. Do it. But that's just me, isn't it?" Prim laughs again, but she still isn't looking at me. "You'd have to look into your heart and decide."

"I'm afraid," I confess. "I don't want to do anything for the Capitol. Not anymore."

"But you're not doing it for the Capitol."

"Easy for you to say. Hey, why don't you look at me?" I suggest, but as soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret saying it at all. My gut twists, and suddenly I'm screaming. Prim turns, but it isn't quite Prim. Her face is horribly burned, and in places, the skin has fallen off, revealing muscle and bone. I am petrified, but my lungs still work. And my voice. "Prim!"

"Katniss," she says gently. Her face catches fire, and her entire being goes up in flames. Fire takes her away again, and it fills me with rage. She burns until there is nothing left but ashes, but even the ashes don't last long. The wind picks up, spreading the ashes, and blowing them towards the sea.

Prim's voice is there again, but it is only in my head. "You're not doing it for the Capitol," she says again. "You're doing it for me."

Prim appears in front of me again, the beautiful Prim, barely thirteen years old. I reach out to touch her, but my hands pass right through her as if she were made of mist. "No," I whisper. Then the ground beneath me gives way.

I wake up screaming. Cold sweat lines my brows. I realize I am shivering under the blankets. I stare out the window and realize it is dark outside-the rain has returned.

My chest feels like it has been squashed. I have seen Prim in my dream, only for her to slip through my fingers again. I do not know what it means. It must have been my conscience, although I am not sure if I still have one.

Tears form in my eyes, but I do not let them fall. I steel my nerves. A small part of me says, _you're out of your mind._ I guess I am. We all are, at some point in our lives. "For Prim," I say to the darkness. Then I make my decision.


	4. Thawing

PRESIDENT Paylor calls me back the next day, and I inform her of my decision right away. I figure that if I get this over with as soon as possible, I will not have to question myself too much. But even as I speak, I feel the doubt coursing through me, threatening to paralyze my already numb mind. Is it in my power to sentence innocent children to their death? Their parents might have been my enemies, but can I seriously condemn them to a fate that even I, until now, have nightmares about?

Paylor is in my ear. I think she exhales right into the receiver. "I thought you'd never give me an answer," she says, obviously relieved. I'm sure I've never heard sound this way. It never even occurred to me that people of authority _could_ sound this way.

"Who else are you calling to decide on this?" I ask. "Since we're, you know, a _democracy_."

"The other victors," she replies.

"Why didn't you have this settled within your core group?"

"We had this settled, but the unrest, as I told you, is growing. We decided that the Hunger Games should never be repeated, but you should have seen the looks on my advisers' faces."

"So looks are enough to make you doubt your claim?"

"That's not half of it." She doesn't say anything more. I choose to let it go, because pushing it would probably get me on Paylor's bad side. Not that I care, really, but I want my peace of mind.

"So, uh, why did this take so long? Three years?" I ask Paylor.

"It is probably best if I answer your questions—I'm sure you have more—once you get here in the Capitol. I will send—"

"I'm not going back there." I get the words out forcefully.

"—a plane to fetch you, Haymitch Abernathy and Peeta Mellark. There is a lot to be discussed, and we can't cover everything on the phone. Is the day after tomorrow a suitable date?"

She makes it sound like a question, but I get the feeling that I really don't have a choice. Uneasiness floods my brain. I only feel like this when there's trouble ahead. Paylor is holding something back. That's why she sounds so…afraid.

"Whatever you wish, Ma'am." Then I hang up. Rude, but what the heck?

The last Hunger Games will be held. I'm sure of it. Something tells me that even if the others say no, the arena is prepared, the traps well-planted, the deaths carefully arranged. Paylor is simply making it appear like she needed us victors. Things are going back to what they had been. We are pawns, and the Capitol is the player with the upper-hand. And I fell for it.

"_Revenge is never the answer," Peeta had told me. _

But what _is_ the answer, Peeta? I have made my decision. Quite rash and impulsive, but there is no backing out.

Pushing thoughts of the Games and the Capitol and Peeta out of my mind, I silently curse myself. I have said goodbye to my past. Now it's pulling me back in and I have welcomed it. I admit that I don't know what to think.

To clear my head, I leave the house. The ground is wet and the wind is chilly, but the rain has stopped. The clouds have parted, revealing an early afternoon sun. I head to town, and immediately see Rory Hawthorne, Gale's brother, hanging around the market. He's sixteen now, and he looks so much like Gale. They have the same dark hair, gray eyes, and olive skin. We all do.

"Katniss!" he calls, and walks in my direction.

"Rory," I say as he nears. He has grown taller than me. "What's up?"

"Gale said it was your birthday yesterday. So, uh, belated happy birthday, Kat." He smiles, and I realize that he is the spitting image of Gale, minus the fire in his eyes.

"Thanks," I manage. "Where's Hazelle? And the kids?"

"They're at home," Rory says. "Gale is hunting," he adds, although I never asked.

"Look, can you guys drop by my house later? Let's have dinner together," I suggest. I pluck the words off the top of my head, not knowing why.

"That'd be cool." Rory then hesitates, as if he's about to say something. But he just says, "Hey, I gotta run." Then he's gone.

I roam all over the District, making small talk with old friends and neighbors. Everyone is so positive about everything; it hurts my head to think that I'm being sucked back into my dark history.

In the end, I find myself standing in front of the gate separating the woods from the town. _This is where I belong_, I think. My bow and arrows are waiting for me. Game is around every corner. Since I invited the Hawthornes for dinner, I figure I should have something fresh to offer.

The wind whistles through the leaves, but aside from that, the world is silent. I tread the earth with well-worn boots, not making a single sound. I lose track of time. I become so lost in hunting, in following my game's trail, in thinking of nothing but my prey, that I do not sense him until he's behind me.

"Hello, Catnip."

Without looking at him, I say, "Hello, Gale."

He takes my game bag off my shoulders and slings it over his own, relieving me of the dead weight I have been carrying around. "Let me carry this." I turn to face him.

"Why did you come back?" I ask. We commence walking, side by side, just like the old times. "And I don't want to hear the 'I came back for you' crap."

He laughs, and his face lightens. "Well, I had to go back to my family, Kat. I'm tired of sleeping in a place where I couldn't trust anyone. I missed District 12. I missed hunting. I missed my family."

I climb a tree, easily scaling its thick limbs. Gale follows, and we settle on a thick branch high up above the ground.

"Rory's taller than me," I say.

"Ha. Everyone's taller than you. You're so small," Gale teases.

"I know."

He suddenly turns serious. "How have you been, Katniss?"

"I told Rory to tell you and Hazelle and the kids to drop by my house dinner time," I say, refusing to answer his question.

Gale shakes his head, grinning. "Who would cook?"

"Do not insult my cooking skills, Hawthorne." But I am also smiling.

"Oh, so you can cook now? Last I checked, you couldn't even make a proper soup."

I want to bring up that the last time we had been together was three years ago, but I don't. "Ha-ha. See for yourself tonight."

"Okay. So what's this, a post-birthday celebratory dinner?"

I nod. I drop Gale's gaze and train my eyes on the ground below for a long time. When I look at him again, he asks for the second time, "How have you been, Katniss?"

This time, I decide to answer him. "I get by," I say simply.

"Seriously? Three words are all you have for me?"

"Shut up."

"Sorry."

"Doesn't matter. How have _you_ been?" I ask, although I'm not sure I want to know.

"I get by," he says, then stares at me dead in the eye.

"How _original_," I sneer, but I hold his tantalizing gaze. Suddenly I am catapulted back into the past, in District 2, in that cold night by the fire. We had been kissing. Then for no reason, I am wondering if I had loved him then.

Now, I am searching his gray eyes for the fire that I used to adore. I find it at once, burning bright right through me. Fire symbolizes me. Gale is fire. But fire killed Prim. Gale killed Prim. I don't want to believe that, but it is true.

Still, I cannot help but trust Gale. He is, after all, the person who knows me best.

"Can I tell you something?" I begin.

"Of course. You didn't have to ask permission." He smiles, and I can't help but feel that this moment could have been from long ago, when we were just young outlaws, carrying no baggage in our souls but the instinct to keep our families fed and safe.

So I spill my conversations with Paylor. Gale hardly blinks. "That's stupid," he says when I finish, his jaw set. "For one, why wait three years?"

"I asked the same thing."

"So all this time, they've been holding those kids in prison?" Gale is starting to be furious.

"That's what I think."

"Something is off. It's almost like someone is controlling Paylor."

"I know," I say. "But who? And how could anyone control her? She's the president."

"_Exactly_," he stresses. "So you're going to the Capitol?"

I start making my way down the tree. The sun is almost setting, and I have to prepare dinner. I hope it won't be a total failure. "Yeah," I say to Gale, who stays up there.

I reach the foot of the tree before he responds. His voice is faint because he's so high up, but I'm certain I hear him right when he says, _"I'm coming with you."_


	5. Of Roast Turkey and Cake

_A/N: Guys! Thanks for reading and reviewing; I appreciate every single thing you have to say about my story. Keep the feedback coming! _

THE HUNGER GAMES TRILOGY BELONGS TO SUZANNE COLLINS. THE ONLY THING I OWN IS THIS PLOT.

"I haven't had roast turkey in a long time," says Vick Hawthorne while munching on a juicy, meaty chunk.

"But that's just because you don't want to eat anything but beef since we got home from Thirteen," retorts his brother Rory.

"That's not true," says Vick.

"Is true."

"Not."

Hazelle cuts in. "Rory, you sound like a middle-schooler."

Vick snorts. Rory turns red, and picks at his food with his fork.

The Hawthornes are assembled around the table, with Hazelle taking the spot where the head of the family should be. I am at the opposite end of the table, simply because it is the most convenient place for getting up every now and then to get more food from the kitchen. Vick and Rory sit side by side, and Gale and Posy are across them.

A cheerful mood has smiled upon our little dinner tonight. I still wonder why I invited them in the first place, but it doesn't matter now. Their presence affects me positively.

"Excuse my brothers," Gale says.

"Yeah, Katniss," says Posy, now eight years old. "Rory is so red because he likes you."

"_Shut up_," Rory hisses.

I don't say anything, because it's so silly, but Gale chooses this moment to say, "We Hawthornes have a thing for pretty hunter girls." He says this so casually, I laugh. No good dwelling on his words.

"Let's just eat, okay?" Hazelle says, smiling at me. "The roast turkey's fantastic, Katniss."

"Thanks." We then finish the food in silence, and I am about to bring out the cake Hazelle and Posy baked for me, when someone knocks on the front door. "I'll get it," says little Posy. I freeze by the refrigerator, my muscles tense. Who else would come knocking on my door?

"It's Peeta and Haymitch!" Posy calls out.

My hands are shaking as I bring out the cake in its brown box from the fridge. Then I set it down gently on the table and meet them in the living room. I am smiling, but my heart is hammering against my ribs. "You're just in time for dessert."

Haymitch, looking sober enough, heads right into the dining room, but Peeta lingers by the doorway.

"Haymitch dragged you here?" I ask.

"We sort of dragged each other," Peeta says. It's been a few days since I last saw him. A year since I told myself I didn't love him anymore. He looks the same.

"Come in."

The lack of chairs poses a problem. My table seats only six, and now there are eight of us. I look over carefully at Gale, but he's shaking Haymitch's hands and nodding at Peeta like they're old friends.

"I'll get you chairs from the study," I say.

There is an awkward moment as both Peeta and Gale say, "I'll help." But I walk past, ignoring the two of them. I am at the stairs, on the way to the study, when Peeta appears behind me. When he speaks, his voice is just a whisper. "Paylor called you?"

"Yeah." I pause in front of the door.

"And I suppose you said yes to the Games."

"What's it to you?"

His eyes flash angrily, and I can't help but be reminded of the last days of our failed relationship. "What the hell, Katniss?" I disgust him, I know. Just his tone is enough to tell me.

"What the hell, Peeta," I say softly. "It's none of your business."

"You and Haymitch are the same."

"So the two of you are talking?" I turn the knob, grab two chairs from the room, and bang the door shut. I thrust the chairs at Peeta, and he catches them with grace.

"No. I just asked him today."

"We're going back to the Capitol," I tell him. "Our choices don't matter. The Hunger Games are gonna happen one last time, and there's nothing we can do."

Peeta's gaze softens as he realizes this. "What do we do, then?"

_We._ Like the two, three of us. Haymitch, Peeta, myself. I suppose they didn't come here for the food. "I told you. Nothing. Are you deaf?" I bound down the stairs, Peeta trailing behind me, grumbling and muttering.

The others are seated the way they were when I left them. Nobody moved. "Why haven't you sliced the cake yet?" I ask.

"What?!" Posy asks. "Well, you haven't blown the candles yet!"

"Posy." I'm not having any of this.

"Katniss," she says. "Please?" I look around me. Everyone is smiling at me.

"This is ridiculous," I grumble, "But okay."

Rory lights the candle on the cake, and they sing the Happy Birthday song—Peeta and Haymitch aren't singing—around the table. A smile touches my lips. They finish the song with heartfelt applause and I blow the candle.

"Did you wish, Katniss?" Posy inquires.

"Yes," I lie. Wishes are absurd things. Are we just supposed to sit around and wish for things to happen?

Hazelle volunteers to slice the cake, and she is about to give Peeta his slice when he shakes his head and politely declines. He excuses himself and goes out of the house. Haymitch takes Peeta's slice from Hazelle and starts eating. He looks at me. "What? This tastes good. I came for the food, sweetheart. It's just the boy who's so high-strung."

The cake _does _taste good. Chocolate, with caramel icing on top. It even has those little edible flowers they sell at the bakeries. We finish dessert in a short while. Things are really looking up. Three years ago, we couldn't even afford bread.

Gale and Haymitch engage in small talk, and soon, everyone—except Posy and Vick, who go the living room to watch TV- is in the conversation. I thaw a little, and decide that Haymitch is still my friend, even if we did not talk for several months. While the boys talk, I clear the table and Hazelle gives me a hand. I wash the dishes, and after a short while, Hazelle thanks me.

"For what?" I ask. I'm pretty sure my cooking isn't all that spectacular.

"For talking to Gale," Hazelle says.

"That's nothing."

"It means everything to me, Katniss. You should have seen Gale when he talked to me about you. When he came back last week, I thought he'd found himself another girl, but I was wrong. He's still in love with you."

Only the sound of the ceramics clattering together permeates the air. Why is Hazelle saying this? I don't want to snap at her, not when she is being so honest with me.

"Gale is my son. I know it when he's hurt. He's twenty-two, but he's still my little boy. But don't tell him that." Hazelle laughs. It is only a span of a few seconds before she turns serious again. "He blames himself everyday for what happened to Prim. I feel it. I'm not asking you to just forget everything and love him back, but will you give him a chance?"

I imagine Gale, strong and handsome and proud, crying to his mother. I imagine Gale, my old friend, breaking inside because of Prim. My heart twists. I glance at Hazelle, and realize she has tears in her eyes. I leave the dishes and wipe my hands on my jeans, and embrace her. Her tears fall on my shoulders, so much so, that I tell her, "I will try, Hazelle. I'm taking him with me to the Capitol."

"Oh," she says, smiling wide. "That would mean so much to him. Thank you, Katniss." Then she frowns. "But why are you going to the Capitol?"

When I don't answer, she apologizes. "I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's alright. It's just a little…confidential."

Soon, the Hawthornes are filing out my door. They are thanking me, and I am thanking them back, and we're saying good night. Haymitch wishes me a smug 'Happy birthday,' and leaves. Gale lingers last of all. He gives me an awkward hug. "Rory would be mad if he saw that," I joke.

"_Rory's_ not competing with _me_," he says, laughing. "He's so going to lose."

"Yeah, because he's not going to the Capitol with me, but you are."

Gale's eyes widen, and he smiles at me so genuinely, I can't help but smile myself. "That's gonna be cool," he says. "We'll find what Paylor's up to."

"That, we will do."

Even if we find out what Paylor is up to, there's no stopping her and the Hunger Games. But I don't tell him that. He already knows. He's too smart not to. We're just making each other feel better. Right now, I don't care, really. I can do with all the feeling-better. Just so I could forget the sneaking suspicion that something bad, something tragic is about to happen.


	6. Everything Has Changed

A/N: Thank you for reading this story. Reviews are much appreciated, I want to know what you guys think about this.

Dark clouds greet us on our way to the Capitol, wrapping around the windows of our small plane, and making it a challenge to see the ground far below. Gale shifts on the seat beside mine, saying "The weather is terrible for May."

"Yeah, with the rain and everything," I agree.

"Why don't you try to sleep? I have a feeling that what you're going to encounter in the Capitol is going to give you a lot of stress," he says.

"Oh, please." I roll my eyes. "I'm built for stress. And besides, I just woke up when Haymitch banged on my door and told me the plane was there."

"For the record, sweetheart, I didn't bang on your door. I knocked politely," Haymitch, two rows behind us, interrupts. "Didn't I, Peeta?"

"I really wouldn't know," shouts Peeta from the front. "I shopped for supplies for the bakery this morning. I was gone just a little after dawn."

"Shopping," Haymitch snickers loud enough for me to hear. "Manly."

"I don't want to see you buy anything from my bakery from this day on," Peeta says firmly. But he chuckles afterwards.

Gale's voice is softer the next time he speaks. "Katniss." I tear my eyes out from the window and look at him. "I don't mean to pry, but why did you agree to the Games?"

"I don't mean to be rude, Gale," I say quietly. "But I'm afraid that's none of your business."

"That's what he asked you when you got chairs from the study, wasn't it?" It takes me a while to figure out that he's talking about Peeta. "Yes, and he got the same answer from me."

"Just checking," he replies. "We're suddenly rushing to the Capitol at a moment's notice, without having a full perspective on what's going on. We're being played for fools."

A hasty conclusion, but I guess he's right. He always is. But he came with me anyway. "If we get into trouble, it would be your fault. You asked for it."

"I know that." He hesitates, but says it anyway. "My mother put you up to this, didn't she?"

So he knows. "I would have allowed you to come with me even if she didn't," I lie. I didn't want to drag Gale into this would-be mess, but if I wanted to take a step in restarting my life, I had to give him the opportunity to be a part of it. There is something else, too. I would never survive this trip with only Peeta and Haymitch with me. After a long time, I needed Gale again, although I'd never say it aloud.

"You're a terrible liar, Katniss," he says. "But thanks, anyway." He sighs, and does not speak for the rest of the plane ride. My eyes, despite having a full night's sleep, insist on closing.

Someone is shaking my shoulder. Gale. "We've touched down." I stretch and yawn, and he laughs. "I thought you didn't want to sleep?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

"Forget it," I say, but something tugs at the corners of my lips and I'm smiling as well.

"Get up, you." He offers a hand, which, after a moment's hesitation, I accept. We vacate the plane and step on the Capitol's soil once more.

"Things haven't changed," I tell Gale. The buildings look the same: tall, candy-colored, artificial. The sky is cloud-free. Does it ever rain in the Capitol? Cars queue in busy lanes and veer in and out of side streets. From our vantage point on the helipad of an office building, the Capitol looks the same. Too bright. Too pretty. Too good. Hiding the evil it once cradled within its walls through its magnificence.

We ride an elevator down to the ground floor and ride a shiny black car. Peeta takes the shotgun seat. I sit behind the driver. Gale and Haymitch squeeze in after me.

"Tight fit," mutters Haymitch.

"We were under the impression that there'd only be three of you," says the driver, eyeing Gale doubtfully.

"He's my companion," I say quickly. "It's a quick ride. We can manage."

The driver speeds forward and suddenly I'm seeing the Capitol from a different point-of-view. "Are those people…" Peeta ventures. Gale completes his sentence. "Homeless."

The boys are right. There are people curled up on sidewalks, sleeping in late into mid-morning. They no longer wear the fashion of the Capitol, and I never would have distinguished them from the others who came from the Districts if not for the changes they have permanently etched onto their bodies. Skins dyed. Heads shaved. Noses and lids and lips pierced. These are Capitol people. But why are they sleeping on sidewalks?

The driver comes to our aid. "District people came over and checked this place out after the war. The Capitol is a big city, but with all the new people coming in, space went scarce. The newcomers kicked the originals out of their homes. Pretty awful, if you ask me." His accent tells us he's a Capitol resident.

I don't know why, but it feels wrong. Sure, these are people who lived in total wealth three years ago, but I personally would not want to be sent to the streets because other people want a place to live. Gale voices my thoughts. "And the President sits up there and just lets it happen?"

"Oh, yeah. The president does nothing but sit up there. I haven't seen her in a while, not even on television."

I take back what I've said, about things not changing. But Peeta beats me to it. "Things _have _changed," he says.

"They really have, Mr. Mellark," says our driver. The car halts in front of the President's Mansion. "The other victors arrived yesterday. You three –four—are all they're waiting for."

"And what did they say about the homeless?" inquires Haymitch. It's the first thing he has said after making the 'tight fit' comment.

"The same thing these kids said." The driver gets out and opens our door. Huh. In the old times, we would have had another person to open the doors for us. Paylor seems to be intent on changing the way the Capitol runs.

Johanna Mason is waiting for us in the lobby. "Hey," Peeta greets. She has gained weight. Her hair is shoulder-length, and her curves are more prominent.

"Hey." She starts for the elevator. "The others are here."

"We know. Did you see the homeless?" I ask.

"Yeah." Johanna punches a button and we're rising from the ground quickly. "Nice, huh? Let them be the poor, tragic people for once."

"District people have never been homeless," I counter.

"But we've starved, braved winters without electricity, fought to the death while they watched and cheered," she says simply. "The homeless are being fed. That's more than they could possibly ask for."

The elevator door slides open, and Annie Cresta hugs me before I could even get out. "Hello, Katniss!"

"Hey, Annie," I say, hugging her back. "How are you?" The others are greeting one another, but the hellos and the embraces and the handshakes look calculated. Of course. Nobody liked being called back into this place.

Annie smiles. "Oh, I'm fine. Life is good. I honestly don't understand why the Games are going to happen again."

"It's going to be the last one," I tell her. "For the Capitol children."

"I know that, Katniss. But that doesn't make it wrong, does it?" She looks at me so earnestly that I can't help but wonder if she's directing it at me. I struggle to form the words but Annie rescues me. "Never mind." She takes my hand. "Come on. Someone wants to see you."

"Who?"

She's about to answer, but suddenly, the speakers in the room are booming with Paylor's voice. "Welcome, victors. I cannot meet you right now, but I want to inform you that in the upcoming Hunger Games next week, you will not only be spectators but also mentors. There will be no training sessions, but to at least give the children a chance to fight, I am assigning you to brief and guide them. I will meet you tomorrow." The room is silent. Something tells me that I'm going to get more than I bargained for.

Peeta was holding a glass, but only jagged bits remain in his hand. Fragments of the glass fall to the floor, waking us all up. His palm is bloody, but he does not looked pained. His blue eyes reflect anger.

I understand. We're a piece in their Games. Again.


	7. Finnick and Annie

The president's office is beautiful, but not in the obscene way that the previous president's was. The carpet on the floor is a dark shade of red that is almost brown. Comfortable furniture pieces covered in white leather accommodate us. The walls are adorned with medals of Honor. The heavy desk is made of sturdy wood. The light from the outside filters in through floor-to-ceiling windows.

Paylor is a different woman. Gone is the young, fearless commander I met in District 8, and in her place is a weary, hesitant person, now walking us through the proceedings in the next week, what with the coming Hunger Games, blah blah blah. There will be no parade, no interview, and no sponsors of any sort. Just twenty-four kids in a fight to the death. Beetee inquires if the Games will be broadcasted, and gets a tired "Of course" from the president.

The president continues. "Like I said yesterday, you will be mentors." She stops, as if bracing herself for protests, but nobody speaks. We all just stare her down. We deliver our dissent through silence. The president frowns, no doubt waging some kind of internal struggle against her own mind or some unseen force. Whatever it is, it's clear the woman is troubled. When she resumes talking, her resolve sounds renewed. "But not like the old times. You will be mentors, yes, but only at the beginning. The Head Gamemaker will arrange a meeting with you and the tributes, and I expect you to give them what they need to know about survival. There will be no training sessions. Just you and the children. And of course, you will have to watch the Games, but sending in parachutes is obsolete. They will have to provide for themselves."

Nobody comments. In fact, nobody says anything until Paylor herself is the one to say, "I presume, then, that I am understood. You have a meeting with the tributes tonight, after dinner. Also, remember you are guests here. Feel free to do what pleases you." We vacate the room without a word.

Now, in the privacy of our own commons area, Peeta erupts. "Who does she think she is?" he shouts, outraged.

"She's the president, for one," says Johanna flatly.

"I'm getting myself a drink," announces Haymitch out of nowhere.

"Me, too," says Peeta and follows our old mentor. I don't even bother digesting the fact that he opted to drink away his troubles than talk about it. He _has_ changed. Three years is a long time.

Annie Cresta is sitting on one of the plush chairs, her head buried in her hands. I call her name. No response. I shake her by the shoulders. No response. I sit patiently beside her, begging her to snap out of it. Slowly, she lifts her head. Her eyes are red. "How long was I out?" she asks in a quiet voice.

"Not long," I say.

"I have to get to Finnick," she says suddenly, bolting upright, and starts for the door.

She's worse than I thought. "Annie," I call out after her. "Annie, Finnick is—" I stop myself, not knowing how to say it.

"No, Katniss," Annie says, turning and smiling at me. "I could never leave him at home, so he's here with me." I follow her to her room, ready to force her back to reality, when a little boy cries, "Mommy!" with a tone so joyful that I stop in my tracks.

Annie practically runs to the bed, where the little boy sits, playing with a bunch of toy boats. "Hello, Finn. C'mere, I have someone I'd like you to meet."

I have forgotten all about Annie's son. To name him after his father…I don't even know what to think. It's either an act of love, or an act of madness. I sit on the edge of the bed, and I smile at little Finnick. "Hello, Finn," I manage.

"Baby," Annie says, carrying the boy from his toys. "This is Katniss, my friend."

"Hello, Katniss," he says. He then brings up his hand and holds out three chubby fingers. "I'm three years old."

"Oh, how are you, Finnick?" I ask, taking in the face of this handsome child. He inherited his father's golden eyes, and his mother's dark hair.

"I'm fine, thank you, how are you?"

"I'm good!"

"Do you know my daddy?"

"Yes," I say softly. "He's the bravest man I've ever known."

Annie has tears in her eyes. Finnick is suddenly interested. "Yeah, you bet. Mommy says Daddy is a good swimmer. He's big and smart and strong." I note how he speaks of his father in the present tense. I look at Annie, and ask the question with my eyes. _Does he know?_ Annie just shakes her head, and a lone tear falls on her face. "So, uh, I'll see you guys later," I say. Little Finnick kisses me on the cheek. Annie rises and walks me to the door. Before I go, I give her a hug. "What did you tell him?" I ask.

"That his daddy can't be with us. I'm waiting for the right time, Katniss." I don't protest.

"You're lucky you've got him," I tell her.

"Yes," she says. "He saved my life. He's my hope and joy." I nod, and leave.

Gale is waiting for me outside the president's mansion. He's leaning against a lamp post with his hands in his pockets, and he smiles when he sees me. "How did it go?" he asks.

"Badly. Paylor did all the talking. She looks like she's aged ten years. I almost felt sorry for her," I say.

"Almost?" He raises an eyebrow. We're now walking along swanky Capitol streets, drawing no attention from our co-pedestrians.

"I hate her guts," I admit. "She's too weak to stand up to her members, then she orders us around."

"She's the president. She's supposed to order people around," Gale says, stopping and pushing a door to a restaurant on our left.

"I know. But I actually thought things would change for the better under her governance."

"This is for the last time. Don't think about it too much."

I push the matter of my mind. Still, I feel like I'm missing something vital. It's a lingering feeling at the back of my mind that I can't quite put a name to. Gale finds us a table far from the window. People don't know we're here. Another abnormality. If they don't know we're here, what else is the president keeping from them? We order the food and eat in silence.

I almost feel okay. But whatever it is that's nagging at me comes back later today, as I wander around the president's mansion, waiting for our meeting with those damned children. I chance upon a set of elegant double doors I assume lead to Paylor's personal quarters. The lack of guards surprises me. But I guess Paylor is perfectly capable of defending herself. Only two of them are positioned outside the doors, and they're perched by the window, looking at something in the streets and snickering. I slink past them quietly.

A sound issues from behind the walls of the room. The lazy guards don't seem to hear, but I do. A woman's sobs, filled with grief and despair.

The president is weeping.

A/N: What do you think? Tell me.


	8. Suspicions

Questions flood my mind. A shiver runs through my arms. Out of impulse I make a mad dash towards the exit and run straight into Peeta Mellark.

"Whoa," says Peeta. "What are you running from?"

"I don't know," I admit. "I'm pretty crazy." Suddenly I can't look at him in the eye. "I gotta go," I say in a hushed tone, but Peeta holds me by the shoulders and pushes me gently towards the wall. I shake his hands off of me. "I gotta go," I repeat.

"So you and Gale are, uh, seeing each other now?" he asks slowly.

"We're seeing each other. Everyday. I'm seeing you too. I'm seeing everybody," I say evasively.

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Why do you want to know?"

"Should there be a reason?" He realizes that he's standing less than a foot away from me and shifts uncomfortably.

"We're done, okay? You and me. We're over. I don't like your tone." I'm still not looking at him.

"I know," he says. "I just want to know, that's all."

"You're asking a pointless question. No offense, Peeta, but what's happening to you? You've changed."

"I guess I'm pretty crazy, too." Conflicting emotions run the length of my whole body and I can't stand being in front of my past love anymore. Five more seconds and I might explode. You see? Love is never good for me. One second you're chilling, and the next you're fearing an implosion.

End of discussion. I make my way past him as he says, "We have a meeting with the tributes." I don't look back. "So?"

"So, where are you going?" I ignore this. He laughs. "I'd tell them you're feeling sick." I allow myself a small smile as I walk away. He still knows me.

Needless to say, I skip the meeting.

I roam around the Capitol, wearing a jacket with the hood pulled up, just in case somebody looks too close. Twice I get lost, and twice I find my way back. The homeless are queuing for dinner. I stop in an empty bridge, lean against the railing, and ask myself, _what the hell am I doing here? _Things are not the way they're supposed to be, and that bothers me. First, the Capitol people don't know we're here. If the Hunger Games will be televised, why am I not seeing any sign of it on the streets? On the faces of the people I see? Second: Paylor's deteriorating state. What could be wrong with her?

But my thoughts about my worries vanish when a strong force, cloaked in the red light of the setting sun, slams into me and almost knocks me off the bridge. A rough hand covers my mouth so I couldn't scream. My assailant drags me into an empty alley and breathes in my ear. "Give me your money."

I don't have any, so I shake my head no. My hood falls, revealing my face. A flicker of recognition crosses the mugger's face. "You," he says with distaste. He loosens his grip on me and lets me back into the dead end. He blocks the other end with his bulk. "So you're here." He stands over six feet tall, with a bald head and small, cunning eyes.

"Who are you?" I ask. My knees are shaking.

"Nobody. It's a shame he said we couldn't have you." He sounds disappointed. "Says he'd like to have you and your friends for himself. One final show."

My head spins. "Who do you work for?" A strong government opposition? Capitol thugs?

The mugger grins. "He likes twisting your tiny little brains so much, you know that? Pretty goddamn crazy, he is. But pays nice, so I ain't complaining." He grabs me, bruising my arm. "Go. You could rat me out to our beloved president, or not. She's already distressed, I hear. Your choice." He pushes me and I fall on a stack of boxes. Then he walks away without looking back.

I take a deep breath and calm my nerves. I didn't even know the Capitol had street thieves. Shaken, I go back to the mansion but hide in my room and lock the door behind me. I lie tentatively on the bed, but immediately launch into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

><p>"Would you believe that I had this constructed in less than seven months?" Plutarch yells over the drone of the helicopter blades, gesturing at the vast arena below us. We are flying as high as the main feature of the arena: a mountain of dry, craggy rock. The vegetation starts at the base of the mountain, tall pine trees covered in thick white ice.<p>

"Where are all the goodies?" asks Johanna, indicating the empty cornucopia at the center of a clearing a good distance away from the back of the mountain.

"We bring them in the arena the night before the actual Games," Plutarch tells her.

"So Paylor consulted you about this, when, last year?" asks Enobaria. The hypocrite. Like she does not know.

"Last year, right. I don't know about consulting. She informed me, and it was an order, and that was that." Plutarch sighs. "I never thought I'd oversee the construction of another arena again, really."

Johanna, Enobaria, and myself: the only ones crazy enough to step into another arena. Plutarch was disappointed with my absence last night, so he came knocking first thing in the morning to invite me on this little excursion to the arena. But the others are capable of speech, which I am not, at the moment. The memories are crawling back into my brain, loading my entire being with fear and anxiety. I remember Cato's face before and after the mutts came. I remember Mags kissing Finnick before succumbing to the fumes. I remember Wiress, singing a children's song until her death abruptly arrived. I remember the moments of peace with Peeta in the cave. I remember everything so much it pains me. I don't even realize we're landing until Plutarch shakes my shoulder. "Katniss," he says gently. "Are you okay?" I shrug. My nerves are shot to hell.

Johanna and Enobaria are already out and about, examining the icy terrain. The first thing that registers to me is the temperature. Plutarch must have noticed my expression, for he says, "We're going to activate the weather conditions, the traps, the pods, and pretty much everything on the day itself."

I inhale, forcing myself to stay calm. My fingers are sweaty and cold. Because I have seen it. The cause of my distress. The vile stench hits my nose and suddenly, I can't move. _Roses_, the evil white things that the tyrant himself cultivated before he got trampled by the crowd and died. _Dead. _I repeat that word over and over in my head, trying to convince myself that I'm hallucinating. He's supposed to be dead.

But I'm not so sure right now.

When my muscles unclench and I can move again, I scan the arena with eyes that have seen death way too many times. How stupid it is of me to realize this just now. Suddenly, the mugger's words make sense. The entire place is covered with his name. On the tress, on the ground, on the peak of the mountain. Everywhere. _Snow. _

* * *

><p>AN: Sooooooo! I hope you liked it. Please leave a review, lovelies.


	9. Confirmation

This is it. The rationale behind everything that has been happening recently. The reason behind every single glitch in Paylor's facade. The cause of the buzz in my veins.

All I'm waiting for is a confirmation of sorts. As soon as I find that, I'd like to think that I'd go get myself a gun and shoot the tyrant in the head for real. But in my heart of hearts I feel an impulse to run home and scrub off what I know from my memory, which, of course is impossible. I can't _not_ know.

In other news: one of the older tributes, an eighteen-year-old girl with an attitude bigger than most people, has picked a fight with none other Johanna Mason. Annie, who has evolved from mere acquaintance into full-time friend and informant, tells me this as I stuff a spoonful of hearty Capitol food into my mouth. Breakfast is a social thing, so we're all supposed to eat together, but the only ones who showed up are Haymitch-hungover- and Annie-thankfully sober. Even Gale is absent. Strange. He's always been an early riser.

"Johanna said she's had enough," Annie continues. "I think she's leaving."

"Who's leaving?" yells Johanna, striding towards us and picking up a piece of bread along the way. "What are you talking about, Cresta?"

Annie doesn't even blink. "Actually, it's Odair, Mason. I was just telling Katniss that you said you've had enough."

"Seriously?" Johanna sits next to me. "I don't remember saying that."

"You were drunk. You all were," Annie reminds her.

"What's with the drinking, you guys?" I ask. "Why is everyone crazy with beer?" Stupid question time. I don't know anything because after my session in the arena I went straight to my room and never came out until this morning.

"We met with the tributes again last night. Our friends have finally appreciated the art of drowning yourself in alcohol," slurs Haymitch. "Take a little swig or two, then bam, your woes are gone."

Johanna is nodding. "Yeah. But I guess you wouldn't understand because instead of facing the tributes, because you were scared out of your pants after our visit to the arena."

I couldn't care less. "Why? Something mildly interesting happened?" I ask, just for the hell of it.

"Like Cresta here has been telling you, one of the tributes had the nerve to dish out references to my torture here, when, three years ago? Yeah, that, so I suppose she's gonna have to go to the arena with a broken arm." She grins as I shake my head.

"Well, she deserved it," I say. "I would have broken her nose."

"Except you can't," Johanna says flatly. No point arguing there. For a second I consider telling them about my recent discovery, then think better of it. They're not going to believe me. Annie finishes her meal and excuses herself, saying she has to get back to Finnick. Johanna rolls her eyes. "You don't like the kid?" I ask. She chuckles. "Never had patience with the lot of them."

"But he isn't bothering you." I think about it. "He's a cute little boy," I add, as if that should redeem him in Johanna's eyes.

"_Please._" Haymitch gets out of the room, but not before taking a huge wine bottle from the fridge. When he's out of earshot I tell Johanna, "He looks so much like Finnick."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh...there comes the hostile reaction," I tease,

"If you share this bit of information with anyone, I might kill you in your sleep." She pauses. "I _will_ kill you, as soon as I find out."

"Sure," I say.

"Well, yeah. We were mentors together for a long time. I mean, I didn't know he and Annie Cresta...okay. I was also well aware of the fact that Snow's just prostituting him. I thought I knew him. We were friends. Long story short, I sort of fell. A long way down. Except he wasn't there to catch me." Johanna sighs, and I have nothing to say, but she's not done yet. "He was the only one. And when I knew I couldn't have him, I just...cracked. Not like Annie. It was more of a miniature implosion. Nobody could see it. Then I convinced myself that there's no one left I love. It was liberating, really. No leverages, no lures, nothing."

"I'm sorry." I really don't know what to say.

"You asked for it." Then she throws her head back and curses. "Would you believe that I stooped this low? Opening up this much? To you, of all people?"

No, I don't. I cannot believe that Johanna Mason just shared with me one of her deepest secrets. Somehow I feel obliged to open up, too, just to even things out. Turning the conversation around is hard, though, and I'm thinking of how I should do it when Johanna asks, "You and Peeta?" I try to laugh, to make it appear as if I don't care, but fail miserably. "We managed until last year," I finally say. "It was hopeless from the very start."

"No, it wasn't," counters Johanna. "I thought you'd be tight. Peeta was kind of crazy about you."

I huff. "Emphasis on _was._"

"But you're still into him."

"No."

"That wasn't even a question. I was stating a fact." Then Johanna brings her glass of juice to her mouth and takes a long drink. When she finishes. she's the classic feisty person that she ceased to be for the past couple of minutes. "This conversation never happened," she says. Then she's out the door.

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><p>I guess the meeting with the tributes is inevitable, because on the third session, Gale himself tells me, "You can't dodge the tributes forever."<br>I'm not dodging anyone, and I certainly am not dodging anyone forever. I tell him this, but he only says, "Go." So I go.

The twenty-four tributes have been divided into the seven remaining victors. Enobaria, Haymitch, and Johanna each get four of them. The rest of us get three each. "It must be hell," I whisper to Annie. "Mentoring." Annie nods but doesn't say anything. She's probably thinking about her son, whom Gale stays with while we're away. I teased him about it but he didn't seem to mind.

I'm sitting now, far away from the others, not knowing what to do, when a little girl about twelve years old comes to me. "They say you're my mentor." Great. Now they're torturing me with little kids that resemble my dead sister. "Okay. I don't want to be mentored. I'm about to die, and I know it. But I hope I can trust you."

"You shouldn't," I say. "Don't trust me."

"Can I tell you a secret?" Her blonde hair falls in waves over her shoulders. Her eyes are an electric blue. The more I look, the more it hurts.

"I told you you can't trust me."

"But I want to trust you."

"Whatever."

She leans in closer and whispers in my ear. "The old president is alive."

I try not to show that my veins are buzzing louder. "What kind of a preposterous idea is that?" I ask.

"I saw him. Just roaming around in a wheelchair with two guards. Checking us out in our prison."

"What do you assume you'll be getting by sharing this information?"

"Nothing. I'm beyond saving," she says. It doesn't escape me how mature this girl's words are for a Capitol citizen. "You're lying," I judge.

"I am not."

"Do the others know?"

She smiles. "I don't think so. It was probably two in the morning. Everybody was asleep. Since my father died, I never slept before four am."

"When did you see Snow?"

"One week ago."

But Snow was her president. Why was this girl telling on him, spilling his guts to my ears, when she knows that I will kill Snow if it's the last thing I do? I almost dismiss her claim as a figment of a little girl's hyperactive imagination, but she adds, "Oh, no. I'm not making this up." I look at her, taking her stern but pretty face in. "That man killed my father. I want to get even, but since I'm incapable, I trust that you're going to do it for me."

I smile for the first time, even though I don't know what I'm getting into. "What's your name?" I ask.

"Scylla," she says, holding out her hand. "Scylla Crane."

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><p><em>AN: Thanks for reading, following, favoriting(is there such a word? No? Okay.), and reviewing. Did you like this chapter? Can't wait to hear from you. :)_


	10. Spill

_A/N: I have to apologize in advance for this chapter. It's pretty dull by my standards, but I want to slow things down a bit. Thank you for dropping by, and I hope you like it._

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><p>The rest of the mentoring session goes by in a jiffy. Scylla abandons me after I tell her that I believe her. The other two tributes I'm supposed to mentor are sister and brother, fifteen and eighteen years old, respectively. I tell them not to join the bloodbath at the Cornucopia but to run as far away as possible and find water. That's about it. The girl presses me, but there's nothing more I want to say. Except I'm sorry.<p>

A buzzer goes off and the tributes get up and leave. Scylla Crane turns and waves. She smiles at me, as if her imminent death didn't bother her anymore. As long as I locate Snow and finish him off, her own fall will hardly matter.

Gale meets me at the exit and whisks me away to a restaurant for lunch. There is something inside me that wants to hide and let my incoming adventure be a solitary one, but I fight it and tell Gale my discovery at the arena, but keep Scylla's account to myself. He watches me talk the whole time. He's still looking at me after I finish, so I say, "Hey."

He blinks. "What?"

"Did you even hear what I just said?"

"Oh..yeah, of course." I wait for him to continue, to tell me what he thinks, but he just digs his way through his food until I slap my palms on the table. "Aren't you going to say something?" I demand.

This wakes him up. He puts on a face of extreme concentration. "Well...I think you're beautiful," he finally says. This would have been awkward under normal circumstances, but in a state where I don't know what to believe, this just downright infuriates me. "Are you drunk?" I ask. Gale laughs. "I'm just kidding. Not about the you're beautiful part, but-" He holds his hands up at my outraged look. "Sorry. Why are you so uptight?"

"How could you make fun of me?"

"I'm not making fun of you."

"Don't you believe me?" I wouldn't be able to take it if he said he didn't.

Gale sighs and takes my hands in his. "Katniss," he begins and I already sense that he doesn't believe me. "It's just...preposterous. I mean, we all know he's dead. You're just worrying yourself."

I _am_ worrying myself. Maybe I was just hallucinating. But there is Scylla's claim to think and speak of, which, at the last moment I tell Gale. "I'm hoping you would reconsider your opinions, Hawthorne," I end.

"Okay. Tell you what, Catnip, I'm getting us tickets for a fireworks show tonight," Gale says. _Shoot._

"Please." I roll my eyes. He's the last person who would go to a fireworks show. And I'm second to the last. "Gale, you have to believe me. What else would you blame for Paylor's state? I take it that Snow's controlling her, getting all of us out here for the last Games. He wants to screw with us for the final time, Gale. I just know it."

Gale reclines on his chair and ponders this. "Okay. Whatever it is, I'm not sure, you're not going to do anything-" I start protesting, but he's not finished. "-Alone." I find relief, and it must show on my face, because Gale smiles and says, "Even if I never believed you, you would still go adventuring. I couldn't miss that." I return his smile, feeling a little less insane now that I've opened up. When the last bit of food disappears down my gullet, Gale asks me, "Are you doing something tonight?"

"No, not really," I answer.

"See, I was thinking, maybe we could catch one of those yachts that cruise in the river at night."

"Is this some kind of a date?"

"Oh, no," Gale says with a straight face. "Of course it's a date!"

"You've been asking me out for lunch since we got here," I remind him.

"I know. But this is different. The river, music, the works."

"As long as I don't go to the stupid fireworks show," I say. "Sure."

Gale smiles. He's been smiling a lot these days, and while it takes time to get used to it, I have to give it to him: he looks better when he smiles. Not that he's ugly when he doesn't-Gale is mighty handsome whatever the expression on his face is. "Good," he says. "Thanks."

"Well, we gotta have fun before we watch those kids go down."

"And before we track down Snow. I suppose you have a plan?"

I shake my head. "I'll think of something." We don't bring up the matter with Snow anymore after that, but every now and then it occurs to me that I'm not certain about this. I could be leading Gale in for a joke. If I'm wrong, we're not going to lose anything, except the children, but they're doomed anyway. But if I'm right...wait. I have to be right. Something else sparks inside me. Maybe we could save the children. Maybe. But if I really consider that happening, I must get my mission done.

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><p>It's unbelievable how easy it all plays out. I don't even have to find Paylor. When we get back to the mansion, a summons is waiting for me: I have to report to the President immediately. Paylor is pacing in her office when I get there. She sees me and breaks into a grim smile. Then she gets right to the point. "What did Scylla Crane tell you?"<p>

"Who?" I evade. She knows?

"Scylla Crane, daughter of Seneca Crane. One of the tributes."

"She could have told me any number of things," I say. "I'm her _'mentor_'."

"Ms. Everdeen, Scylla is spreading malicious rumors around."

"What rumors?"

"I can't say exactly," the president answers. Not true. She probably just doesn't want to give me an idea, but that completely backfires. It only reinforces my predictions. I almost smile.

"You better tell me what that rumor is, so I could figure it out," I tell her.

"Just try not to believe what she said and will say."

"It must be pretty important, if you had to summon me."

"It is pressing, actually." Her expression changes from a mask of calm to a mask of uncertainty, although subtly. I decide not to push her anymore. Make her believe I'm letting it go, when in truth, I'm far from it. "Okay," I say. "What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing, particularly. I just informed you." She faces the window and I get the feeling that I'm dismissed. But I linger for a while, until she says, "We're done here, Ms. Everdeen." I start for the door. I peek one more time inside as I close it behind me and I see a big man getting in the picture, approaching Paylor, shotgun pointing directly at the president's chest. He touches the tip of the gun to Paylor's chest and makes her sit down on her desk. He puts the gun away and says something to her. She's nodding. Two more men, both carrying loaded guns, approach her.

Before I know it, I'm back in the room, demanding, "Who are you?!"

All goons sneer. Paylor says, "They're my guards, Ms. Everdeen."

"Yeah?" I don't believe it one bit. I back away slowly, not taking my eyes off their weapons. "Sure." I go out, knowing for sure that Snow _is _alive. He's working behind the scenes, with Paylor as his puppet. Those men are his lackeys. I resolve to warn the others.

If Snow thinks he's safe, he's got another think coming. I'm going to take him down once and for all, even if I die trying.

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><p><em>AN: Please leave a review. Come on, one smiley face is enough to make my day. And I'd appreciate constructive criticism. How hard can it be? Thanks!_


	11. Hatching Plans

**_A/N: Thank you for the attention and the great reviews. You make me very happy. I will try to finish this story before I go back to school (I'M GOING TO COLLEGE!) in June! We only have two months (April-May) of summer vacay here in the Philippines. Sucks, but what choice do I have? Okay, I'm talking too long. I hope you like this chapter!_**

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><p>Haymitch has survived his hangover. I see him in the balcony of the commons area, alone and staring at the street with so much concentration, I almost hate to barge in. I know he's seen me, but he doesn't take his eyes off the street when he says, "What's the problem?" Something tells me this is the right decision. Telling Haymitch first, I mean. He must have judged I had a problem just from the way I approached him. The mentor-tribute instinct. Or maybe it's simply because we're friends.<p>

"This might be crazy, and you might not believe me," I begin. He finally looks at me and snorts. "What's new?" Taking that as my cue, I launch into a tale regarding my discovery, digging a foundation made out of gut-feels, indications, my encounter with the mugger, and Scylla's secret. Last of all I add my latest visit to Paylor and her heavily armed 'guards.' "He's alive, Haymitch. We have to stop him."

Miraculously, Haymitch doesn't question me. His only point is, "You got any plans?"

"You believe me?"

Haymitch leaves the balcony and settles on a plush sofa. I follow him but remain standing. He's saying: "It pains me to admit this, sweetheart. But I gotta say this: You're a lunatic sometimes, but you're almost always right. Besides, we can't take chances on an issue as big as this one." This kind of comment might sound gratifying from other people, but not from Haymitch. It's almost like he's making fun of me.

"Gee, thanks," I say with just the right dose of sarcasm for Haymitch to look up at me.

"What? You know you wanted that better my laughing at you and walking out."

"So you're just making me feel alright," I say, disappointed.

"I'm not making you feel anything. That's the sort of thing you do for yourself. If you seriously believe this crap, then believe it. But I'm too old, too drunk to be of any help."

"You're not old."

"Okay, okay. But I don't want anything to do with this."

I finally sit on a chair across Haymitch. Frustrated, I taunt, "You're scared." He shoots me a venomous look. "You're saving your sorry ass from trouble," I add. "Fine. But I know what I'm doing."

"If you know what you're doing, you'd know better than to drag my _sorry ass_ into your business."

"Sure." I have been defeated, but that doesn't mean I'm going to give up. "Could you do something for me? Just one little thing, then you're out of this."

Haymitch smirks. "One little thing."

"I promise."

"Let's hear it."

"Tell the others."

He's unmoved. "No. This is your story. You do the talking, the fighting, and pretty much everything."

"They'll never believe me," I say.

"And you think they'll believe me? I'm a crazy son of a gun who's drunk way more than his fill. My credibility isn't exactly intact."

"Please, Haymitch."

"No."

"I'm not good with words." At my mention of that last sentence, my mind whizzes. _Good with words..._

The effect on Haymitch is more or less the same. "Then you asked the wrong person, sweetheart." His use of that endearing term makes my brain whiz faster. "He's at the rooftop. About time you lovebirds talked heart-to-heart," he says. I glare at him, shooting daggers with my eyes. He smiles a little. "Ex-lovebirds," he corrects, then leaves me.

It takes me about five seconds to decide that I'm not going to do what Haymitch said I should. But then, that could jeopardize my whole mission. Scratch that. I could always do it alone-I wouldn't even be alone, because I have Gale. I don't need the other victors. If this somehow goes wrong, they could get hurt. So I stay rooted at my spot in the commons area, thinking, when a sickening twist of fate occurs. The man himself walks in.

He's grown taller. His muscles are more pronounced. His blond hair is ruffled up in a just-woke-up style. I watch him, and he watches me. "I ran into Haymitch," Peeta begins. "He told me."

"What do you think?" I ask.

He flashes me just the smallest of smiles before he says, "How could I help?"

"You could tell the others. That's all I ask. After that you could just walk away, leave me alone-" He cuts me off. "I'm not leaving, okay? I wanna help y-I wanna help. I hate Snow as much as you do."

This hardly affects me. "I don't want anyone else to get hurt if this goes south," I say.

"Why would you tell them, then? Maybe it's best if they don't know. It's safer," he advises.

I search my head for a reason. Why do I need them? Why? When the answer comes to me, I say it right away. "We can't let Panem watch the Games." It would throw them into chaos. Peeta nods. "So we need Beetee there. How about the others?"

"Snow has henchmen."

"Paylor has soldiers."

"But Snow is controlling Paylor. So all of Paylor's troops are under Snow, too."

"You, me, Enobaria, Johanna. Beetee will be working the technology. Annie has a little boy to look after."

"And Haymitch has already backed out," I add miserably.

Peeta is silent for a while. "No offense, Katniss, but what's four of us against Snow?"

"Five. Gale's in," I say. "I don't know." I bury my head in my hands, trying to get out of this mental trap. Soon, Peeta's beside me, his arms reluctantly reaching around my shoulders. My resolve is dissolving before my eyes. I feel Peeta's lips on the top of my head and I jerk back violently away from him, my face burning. Peeta says he's sorry. He curses himself. He repeats his apology. And I'm saying sorry too, trying desperately to appear calm when in reality, my heart is pounding.

"I'll think of something," I say, steering into our last topic. "We're not going to do a lot of fighting. Security is slack near Paylor's quarters. I can bet that she's keeping Snow nearby. Beetee shuts down screening everywhere except inside this mansion. No one will notice anything." I've suddenly become perfectly articulate. "Then we arm ourselves and go straight to Paylor and force her to tell us where that demon is. Then...then-"

Peeta completes my line. "We kill him." I nod, but can't help but feel like I'm missing something. _What is it? _But I'm forced to abandon that stream of thought because I realize somebody's watching us.

Once again, I marvel at the silence of his tread. Gale is leaning against the doorway, just standing there and looking between me and Peeta. He's so calm, it's frightening. A shiver runs through me. _Did he see that...awkward moment?  
><em>

But he shows no sign of it. In fact, he's smooth as usual when he says, "Ready?"

"Ready for what?" I ask. Oh. The date. Peeta seems uninterested. Part of me realizes it's too early. "We were talking," I tell Gale.

"Oh, sure. Was I interrupting? Go on, by all means." Then he disappears into the hall.

"Go get him," says Peeta. "We're done here, anyway. I'll just see you when I see you." He gets up and out.

I hear them conversing in the hall. Gale is saying, "Yeah, we have a date." Peeta replies something I don't quite catch. Gale enters the room, and I'm being honest when I tell you that I'm mad at him. Why? No reason.

I'm clueless. Hopeless.

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><p><strong><em>AN: Please leave a review! Also, the date scene happens in the next chapter. A lot of things are going to happen, so watch out for them!_**


	12. The Yacht

To my surprise, Gale didn't call off the date. I quickly got over my annoyance at him and mentally asked myself why love has made me a jittery, fragile, but hotheaded person. Because our date wasn't for another few hours, Gale left me, but not before saying "Wear something nice." A ripple of my subsiding anger resurfaced then. "You too," I snapped.

Someone has obviously heard that conversation.

Johanna intercepts me on my way to my room. "What?" I ask, none too nicely.

"I may not always like you, brainless, but, you gotta look great on your date," she says.

"I don't care about how I look, okay?" I say and elbow past her, but she catches my arm and latches onto it with a vice-like grip. "Come on," she says. "Prove to me you don't give a damn about Peeta anymore."

I laugh without humor. "How is this gonna prove anything? And why should I prove anything to _you_?"

She shrugs. "I was just bluffing. I don't care. But you're in desperate need of my fashion services. It's officially a crime not to take my advice."

"But it isn't until 8 pm. We have around five hours to kill."

"If we leave now, we could use two to three hours to buy your outfit. Another two hours for hair and makeup."

"But-"

"Don't worry. It's on me."

"No, really, I'm fine. Thanks, though."

"I insist."

I give up. That's why three hours later, I'm dressed in something I couldn't hope to breathe properly in. The dress stops just above my knees, and it goes shorter when I sit. It's a sleeveless number, shiny black except for a dash of silver lining the collar. I tried to contradict Johanna at the store, but she waved off my protestations. When I told her I'd just wear my old leather boots, she almost threw a fit. "Absolutely not!" she had huffed. So now, high-heeled boots, also shiny black, are hugging my legs very tightly. Walking long distances is out of the question. I hope Gale brings a car.

Presently, Johanna is wielding a wicked-looking eyeliner pen. "Look up," she says and attacks the skin directly beneath my eyes as soon as I do. When she finishes, she admires her handiwork. "Now you look edgy," she comments. I exhale, thinking that she's done. "Maybe just a little more red lipstick," she adds, and I endure another round of erasing and redrawing my face that seems to include anything _but_ more red lipstick. After a while, Johanna says, "Look at yourself."

My cheeks aren't that heavily powdered. My eyes are dark and smoldering. My lips are red and full. The makeup complements the dress. "Hair time," says Johanna cheerfully. I think I fall asleep somewhere in that time, because when I open my eyes, my hair is perfectly straight, not a strand out of place. Johanna has swept up a portion of my hair into an intricate braid down my back. The rest hangs freely from my head, silky and smooth. I can't help myself. "Wow," I say. "This is amazing."

Johanna shrugs and offers me a shy smile. "Well, some of us have to have things to do rather than killing people, you know?"

"Don't tell me you want to be a stylist."

"I didn't say that. It's just a hobby. Something to keep my hands busy with."

"You ought to do this more often. Start a salon in 7 or something."

She smirks. "Never thought about that, really."

My eyes dart up to the wall clock. It's half-past seven. I get up and wobble to the door. "I gotta go to my room first, to get my stuff." I squeeze Johanna's hand in gratitude. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Have a great time."

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><p>I do have a great time. The only hindrance I encounter is my problem with Snow, but as soon as I manage to forget that, even for this one night, everything comes together smoothly.<p>

I pull my jacket closer around me-yes, I put one on to feel a little less naked- as the yacht skims on the river, disturbing the cool air into a pleasant wind. We have just finished dinner, and Gale and I are standing close together on one side of the boat, watching the beautiful Capitol lights all around us.

The whole thing is actually sort of nice. The food was excellent, and Gale, as always, is great company. He's funny. He's smart. He's even a little more upbeat than usual. His eyes shine when he looks at me-maybe they're just reflecting the shiny silver material on my dress. But my only concern is: there's nothing weirder than going on a first date with a person you've known for almost half your life. If there's something I still don't know about Gale, I'm a platypus. Other than that, the evening is perfect.

We talk. There are no dull moments, nor gaps in the conversation. Our exchanges are light and free. We leave nothing out. We discuss almost everything: my hunting mishaps, his experiences in 2, old friends, corny jokes, even our romances. It's a little awkward, but we get over the general awkwardness immediately. I tell him the real story between me and Peeta. He fills me in on his numerous flings with numerous pretty women. I laugh at that part of the conversation, and I'm still laughing when somehow, Gale's arms are around me and his lips are almost in direct contact with mine.

The boat jumps a little and throws me off balance, and the rest, you can figure out.

Unlike that last episode with Peeta, I don't react violently to Gale's touch. I feel myself hesitate at first, but something dormant inside me seems to reawaken and transforms into a primal instinct. I only move. I only feel. I lose track of anything else but my very heightened senses. When I pull away slightly, just to breathe, I realize my hands are in Gale's dark hair and his are on my waist. He gives me a small smile and I return it willingly. I lean in, and we pick up where we left off.

It's not easy to admit this, but I would've stayed like this all night. I suddenly feel like I'm living off a drug that consumes me to no end. This is when and where I truly begin to let my past go. It's too strong, too urgent, too fast for a first kiss in a long time, but I welcome it with open arms. I could hate myself in the morning, but not now, when I'm too carried away in this current of sensations.

But we don't go farther than kissing. There's a line about that, and we're not ready to cross it.

I'm too lost in the moment that I don't see anything wrong when a strong force yanks Gale away from me. His assailant is a big man with a bald head and a familiar face.

"You," I breathe.

Gale throws me a questioning look."You know him?" he chokes out.

"He's a mugger."

The massive man frowns, not loosening his grip on Gale's neck. "The mugger's brother, actually. But I've been told that we look alike."

"Let him go!" I shout.

"Okay," says the man shortly and throws Gale to the floor, where he falls on his knees. Two more men storm the boat. Gale is a big guy, but next to these goons he looks tiny. The newcomers each take one of Gale's arms and force him to stand again. The mugger's brother clenches his hand into a fist and punches Gale in the stomach.

I scream something like "No!" but all that comes out is a choked sound.

Gale doubles over. He struggles, but the men must have grips like steel. Another blow makes Gale grunt. "Katniss, run!"

But I'm frozen in place.

"You heard him, fire girl," says the man who's been hitting Gale. "Run."

"What do you want?" I demand as soon as I find my voice.

"I think you're smart enough to figure it out." The man punches Gale again before adding,"Run now." Another solid strike. "Or you can watch."

"How did you get here?"

"Get here?" The man says. "I own this boat."

"What?!" The last thing I hear is the men's sinister laughter. Then I feel a vicious strike to my head and everything goes black.

When I come to, I'm lying on a dark, deserted street in the middle of nowhere. My head pounding, I get up on my feet. There's a tall, abandoned building in front of me. The only light comes from a window on the ground floor. I think I see a silhoutte of a man in there. Or two. Then my vision fades again. The next time I wake, the throbbing in my head has subsided, but I'm still as disheveled as a bat on drugs. My eyesight is blurry. But I think I make my way to the main street. I hail a cab to the president's mansion.

I catch a glimpse of myself from an angle on the window of the cab. My eyeliner is smeared under my eyes, and my hair is a rat's nest. No wonder the cab driver is giving me those looks. The hit to my head must have been crazy, because I'm wobbling to the elevator in the mansion when I remember.

_Gale is gone._

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><p><em><strong>AN: Did you like it? Please leave a review. Thanks for putting up with this story. Have a great day, you guys. :)**  
><em>


	13. Jawbreaker

I'm out of the mansion again in no time at all.

My shoes pinch my sore toes as I walk as fast as I can in well-lit Capitol streets. I know where I'm going, even though I never stopped to think about it. Instinct tells me that I will find what and who I'm seeking in that place.

I'm partially correct. He is there, but he isn't alone.

The man who intended to mug me the other day, the brother of one of the goons who abducted Gale, is sitting on an upturned crate in the same alley near the bridge. Three other guys, all with dark brown skin, are gathered with him. If they somehow decide to take me, too, I would never stand a chance. I'm running solely on the adrenaline that the sight of Gale being brutally attacked produced. Once that ebbs, I'm certain I will collapse on the ground even without these men laying a finger on me.

The men stare me down as I approach them. When I find the courage, I begin, "You work for Snow."

The mugger smiles. "Thank you for figuring that out."

"Where did you take Gale?"

"Who?"

"Your brother beat him up and kidnapped him." My voice is shaking.

"You'd have to be specific. I have three brothers."

"It doesn't matter. You all work for Snow. Where is he?"

The mugger rises from his perch on the crate and breathes in my face, "Even if I told you, idiot, you wouldn't be able to get him back." His mouth stinks of stale cigarette smoke and beer. The stubble on his jaw grazes my skin as he adds, "You know, I thought you were kind of smart, but I see now that that's not the case. _Idiot._"

Maybe I didn't like the way he called me an idiot twice in a minute. Or maybe I'm just crazy, which is probably closer to the truth. My hand flies and lands on his cheek in a crisp slap. It must sting, because he winces slightly. His lackeys crowd around us. One grips my shoulders tightly. Their leader, the one I just slapped, says, "But I gotta admit, you're gutsy. By the way, my name is Barry." He touches my jaw gently before whispering, "Also known as Jawbreaker."

I spit at him in the face.

He flushes angrily. "What do you want, fire girl?"

"What do you want? What does Snow want from me? From Gale?" My words are a cry.

"Control. He did it before. He can do it again. He will rise again."

"What does it have to do with us?" I yell, and realize how lame it sounds because I already know the answer.

"Please, idiot. Use this." He jabs a finger at my temple so hard, the throbbing from the previous blow returns. The grip on my shoulders intensifies. "How did you know we were here?" Barry asks after a long pause.

"I'm not as idiotic as you think," I snap.

He chuckles. His lackeys join in the laughter. "Perhaps," my friend the jawbreaker says. "Turn her loose," he commands.

The goons are as surprised as I am. "What?" one of them ventures.

"She has to run to her friends," Barry says calmly and looks at me. "Don't you? Don't you have to plot your little strategies to take Snow down? To be perfectly honest with you, you're going to fail."

"Why let us try, then?" I ask.

"No idea," Barry admits. "The first time we met, right here in this little alley, I told you he's a crazy bastard. Maybe he wants to see you get your hopes up, then he'll crush your little shells. He's old, and he's insane. But like I told you, he pays well. So no complaints from me."

_He talks too much,_ I think. Maybe he'll let something slip. So I keep talking.

"I bet he's tapping the national treasury to pay you," I say. "And I bet he's controlling Paylor, too. How does he do it?"

Barry looks at me curiously. Probably thinking I'm not an idiot after all. Then he relaxes. "Oh, you know how he works. Poison. Blackmail. Stuff like that."

My mind reels forward and backward. _How does Snow operate? _"I said turn her loose," repeats Barry to his men. The grip on me loosens. I have more questions, but I don't want to push Barry. "Where's Gale?" I ask as a last attempt.

Barry laughs again. "You're not going to try anything, fire girl. You might lose your pretty face." One of his men, the one who held me, says, "It's pointless, anyway. They're sending them in tomorrow." Before I can respond to that, they throw me out back to the main street. I turn once and see Barry the jawbreaker hitting the man who spoke last squarely in the face. The man staggers but does not fall. He clutches his face. I'm ready to bet with all my money that whoever nicknamed Barry chose an appropriate name.

* * *

><p>No one is very happy with me.<p>

I only allowed myself a minute to change into comfortable clothes. All of them were in various stages of slumber when I knocked on their doors wildly and ordered them to the commons area right _now._

"If this isn't an emergency, I will kill you," warns Johanna in her pajamas.

Only Enobaria's not here, but it isn't like anybody wants her to be. Beetee is half-asleep on the couch.

"Peeta, have you told them?" I begin.

He shakes his head. "I was planning to do it tomorrow at breakfast, when we're all well-rested," he says, yawning. Almost as an afterthought, he adds, "Where's Gale?"My blood roars at that, but I manage to make my visage appear calm. Or so I think. "Tell us what?" Johanna says, "And where is Gale? I thought you guys were together."

"Yes." I look down. "We were."

"So where is he? If you excused him from this, I will kill you."

"You already warned to kill her if this wasn't an emergency," points out Annie politely.

It must be so late, even Johanna's snap senses aren't working. "Whatever," she says.

"Peeta, would you care to tell them now?" I ask. His head is on a pillow on the couch. His eyes are half-closed. "Peeta!" I call. He starts and fixes lazy eyes on me. "Okay, here it goes..." he slurs, then dozes off again. "What is wrong with him?" I demand.

"He's drunk. You shouldn't have been able to drag him out of bed at all," says Haymitch, who said he wouldn't help but is sitting here with us.

"Why is he drunk again?" I ask, incredulous. Beetee says his first words in this conversation. "Why don't you tell us yourself whatever it is you want Peeta to tell us?" he asks.

"He's right," says Annie.

I take a deep breath. "Okay, guys. Stay with me. This is of utmost importance," I begin, and tell a very long tale about my discovery. When I finish, Johanna announces, "I'm going back to bed."

Even Annie, who I assumed would be with me in this, asks, "What did you say?"

"Listen to me!" My voice rises. "Snow is alive! He lured us in, through Paylor, to be a part of the Games. He's toying with us. Please listen to me," I say desperately. I now have their full attention. "And why should I believe you?" asks Johanna.

"Gale is not here because Snow's men kidnapped him." I sound near tears. I sound tired. But I have never been more alive. "Peeta, please help me explain," I plead.

"Katniss is telling the truth," Peeta says. He's suddenly animated. Part of me wonders if he had really been drunk at all. He retells my account in the same effective voice and diction that takes away room for doubt. When he finishes, everyone is fully awake.

"Oh, my God," murmurs Annie.

Then the questions begin. "Where is Snow?" "Where is Gale?" "What is Paylor doing?" And the best of all: "What are we going to do?"

I close my eyes for a full five seconds, composing myself. I will not break. "First, we have to make sure the Games won't be publicly broadcasted. Beetee, that's what your mission is." Beetee nods. "It should be easy. But time is of the essence."

"The Games aren't until Monday," Haymitch says. "It's only Friday."

"Saturday," I correct. "It's half-past one in the morning."

"If I start 6 am later, I think I can do it," Beetee says.

"Good. Now, the rest of us are going to Paylor. We'll find out where Snow is." Despair settles inside me. "But he has henchmen."

"But Paylor has soldiers," says Annie. This conversation has happened before. Just this afternoon, between me and Peeta.

"I know, Annie," I say, "But if we believe that Snow's controlling Paylor, then her soldiers are under Snow's command, too."

"We're going in at the time just before guards shift. They'll be wanting to go home. They're at their weakest," says Johanna.

"If we can disarm them," says Peeta. "They'll still be much stronger than we are."

Nobody volunteers any bright ideas. We play around dead ends for another fifteen minutes. Then I decide we can't reach a solution like this, so I send everyone back to bed. They're gone faster than the wind. Only Peeta stays with me in the commons area. "I thought you were drunk," I tell him when we're alone.

"Just a little. I sobered up enough to try to help," he says gently. "I'm sorry about Gale."

"Don't be. It's not like he's dead." I try to be brave, but my voice fails me.

"You're right. Sorry. Don't worry. You're going to get him back. We'll help."

I don't feel any less hopeless, but I nod like I do. "Thanks. Maybe you should get some sleep. Lots of action tomorrow."

He doesn't laugh. "Don't give up hope, Katniss. Snow is just playing with you."

"Well, he plays an awful lot for an old man," I say. "I'm going to bed, Peeta. See you tomorrow."

"Wait, Katniss." His voice is urgent. I turn to look at him. There are circles under his eyes that I haven't noticed before. "He's not going to kill Gale. Snow just wants to stop you from doing anything against him, because if you do, he's going to take it out on Gale. Who knows, maybe that's what he's doing to Paylor right now. Maybe she has a husband or a child. Parents. Whatever you do, Katniss, don't break, because once you do, it's going to take Snow about two minutes to win this game again. And that can't happen. Remember that."

I stare at him. "Okay. I won't break."

Peeta mumbles something in return, but I don't quite catch it. I go to my room and play all the words I've heard that might be of use to me again and again in my head. I attempt to harness reason, like fishing in stormy seas. When I find none, I give up. I don't try to sleep, but as soon as I close my eyes, I think I go out like a light.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Would you be so kind to leave a review? Thanks. :)**_


	14. Suicide Mission

_This is how Snow used Peeta against me. To do it again, this time to Gale, is pushing it. But I'm pushing him back. To his grave. _

My dreams are restless that night. I do not want to wake because I am exhausted. So I endure the rest of the night in the small gap between sleep and wakefulness until a voice calls out my name.

"Katniss."

I open my eyes, and there he sits, beside me on the bed, like he used to. Part of me realizes how _wrong_ this is and I ask gravely, "What are you doing here?"

"Time to wake up," he says gently. "We've got work to do."

"Can I at least get dressed?" I ask, gesturing to my jammies.

Peeta laughs. "Sure." I shoo him away. "Get out of my bed. And my room. Please don't think you're welcome."He laughs again, and he's still laughing as he makes his way out. I call out after him, "Don't get any ideas, okay?"

When I look at myself in the mirror, I see that I'm smiling a goofy grin. I think back to the last exc hange between Peeta and myself. Crimson spots rise up to my cheeks and I slap myself to get over it. I _cannot _be smiling, with Gale missing and Peeta acting like everything's fine. I shower and brush my teeth, then change into a fitted black shirt, blue jeans, and comfortable rubber shoes.

I'm greeted by sour faces at the breakfast table. "Where's Beetee?" I ask. "Is he already working?"

"He is. Enobaria and Haymitch went with him," replies Annie, spoon-feeding little Finnick beside her.

"There go the oldsters," jokes Johanna. "Though I don't see how Haymitch and that one from 2 are going to help Beetee."

"But, Katniss," says Peeta, "We forgot security and surveillance and stuff like that."

"Do you think something bad has happened to them by now?" I ask.

"We have no way of knowing," he admits. "If they're caught, then locked up, then..." he trails off.

"Okay." I collect my thoughts. They're already pretty scattered at this time of the day. "Guys. This is a suicide mission," I begin.

Only Johanna laughs. "Or it could be a totally not funny joke." I stare at her, trying to grasp the meaning of her words. She means that if I'm wrong, we're risking our pride. She continues, "Or you could be right. But we already know that."

"Then why are you doing this? Either way, there's nothing good in this for us."

"Because you dragged us from bed in the middle of the night," says Johanna.

"Because we're friends," says Annie.

I don't expect an answer from Peeta, but he gives me one. "Because Snow can't rise again."

"But it's not like we're going to die," adds Annie before I speak another word. "Come on. We survived a war. This is just a totally manageable aftershock."

"Annie, you're not going to come with us," breaks Peeta to her gently.

The force of Annie's hand coming down hard on the table reverberates on the wood. The glass of juice beside her topples to the floor, startling her three-year-old son. "What?!" demands Annie with precision so crisp, she could have sworn.

"You have Finnick to look after," says Peeta soothingly. "We can't risk you."

That idea seems to occur to Annie for the first time. "Oh," she says. "I'm sorry."

"You should be," snaps Johanna. "You nearly spilled my coffee. Didn't know you packed a punch."

"I'm sorry, too, Annie," I say.

"If there's anything I can do to help, I'll do it," says Annie with tears in her eyes. "It's just that..it's just that I sat the war out and did nothing."

"The best help you could give is to sit this one out, too," says Johanna shortly.

"Johanna-"

"Johanna's right," I say with all the sincerity I could muster. "You have to be safe. For Finnick."

I could almost see Annie swallowing her pride. Peeta helpfully says, "And you didn't sit the war out, Annie. You gave hope to Finnick, your husband. You kept him alive." And I find myself nodding, remembering the nights Finnick and I talked about Annie and how Snow was torturing her for information. "He wanted to give up," I say. "But he couldn't, because of you."

"Alright, that's enough," says Johanna, clapping her hands. I can't help but think it's rude, but she's right again: we're wasting time.

Annie agrees to keep an eye out for abnormalities and report them to us. As soon as we finish breakfast, Peeta turns to me. "What's next, captain?"

I think about it. Beetee's already tweaking the wires. If he succeeds, then we'd have nothing to worry about for the rest of Panem. That should be it, primarily. All I want is to save Gale, to tell you the truth. But I can't find the heart to lead an unarmed team in there. And then there are the Games. The children I can't save. I don't have the power to stop them from dying. I also don't have the power to stop Snow from living and killing me. But I have the mission to do so. "I guess we need to find Paylor, ask her what we need to know," I say. "But she's not going to tell us."

"Can you stop contradicting yourself every other sentence?" asks Johanna.

"I know," Peeta tells me, ignoring Johanna. I'm also convinced by what Peeta told me last night. About Snow using one of Paylor's loved ones against her. I know now, that that is why Paylor was crying the other day. Maybe she said too much to us, then Snow punished her by taking it out on her loved one. Like Snow's doing to me. I bet he can see us now. He knows what we're planning, and he's hurting Gale for it. My throat closes and for a moment, I can't speak.

"Katniss. Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I lie. "But it's worth a try, isn't it? I say we talk to Paylor."

* * *

><p>"You should have known better than to come here without a summons," says Paylor.<p>

Peeta has been appointed to do the talking. "Ms. President, excuse us. We expected guards by your door but found none. So we entered." Before he can stop himself, he adds, "Your security is a bit-"

Paylor finishes it for him. "Poor?"

"Yes."

"I can defend myself, Mr. Mellark."

"I'm sure you can."

Paylor gestures impatiently. "Now why did you come? I have things to do."

"We came here to talk about former President Snow."

The effect on Paylor is palpable. Her forehead creases, revealing lines of worry. "The _late_ Snow." She dabs a handkerchief on her face. "What about him?"

Peeta decides to be straightforward about it. "He's responsible for this year's Games, isn't he?"

"I beg your pardon." Paylor tries to smile. "But he's dead, Mr. Mellark."

"I don't think so," I interrupt. Paylor glares at me, and I stare her down.

"Ms. Everdeen, I told you, that Scylla has polluted your mind."

"Nope. Snow has polluted _your_ mind. Who's he got? Your husband? Your son?" I want to restrain myself, but I can't. "We can help you, Paylor."

The president has gone a shade of red. She's furious. "_You can help me?!_" Her voice trembles. "He is beyond help, Ms. Everdeen."

"So you're confirming it," retorts Johanna sharply.

"Yes! I am confirming it! Snow's probably killing him by now!" She crosses the line from weariness to subtle hysteria. "My Thaddeus, my little Thaddeus," she breathes. "Look what you've done!"

"Ms. President, we'll try to help you. Just tell us where Snow is."

For the nth time, we are reminded of how suicidal this mission is, for Paylor says, "What have you got against him?"

"Nothing," says Johanna. "But we will have at least one _something_ if you tell us _anything_."

"We'll bring back your Thaddeus," says Peeta. I shoot him a look, but he shrugs.

"How?!" asks Paylor. "Thaddeus is dead."

"No," says Peeta firmly.

"You know nothing."

"Yes, he does," I say. I explain to Paylor how Snow used Peeta against me in the war, and how he's using Gale and Thaddeus now.

When I finish, silence envelopes us. It stretches out for a long time, as Paylor processes the information I have just given her. I marvel at how even a person as strong and determined as Paylor could struggle not to break under the stress of the situation she's in. Snow knows how to manipulate people well. Too well. He can plant seeds of depression so deep inside you, that the only way to pull them out by the roots is to kill yourself. I loathe him for that.

"Very well, then," says Paylor after the huge gap in the conversation.

"Where is Snow?" asks Peeta.

"I can't give you that."

"Why not?"

"I have purely selfish reasons. I only want the best for my son. He's only five years old. Please understand."

Anger courses through me. I can't go this far and not gain anything. "Can't you tell us anything at all?" I ask. "My friend Gale is also being tortured, you know. I should have purely selfish reasons, too, but I try not to, because I'm busy saving whoever can be saved."

Paylor ponders this. "If you're thinking about saving, stop it right now. I don't recommend saving anyone."

"But he has your son! Why not?"

A flicker of a smile appears on Paylor's lips. "Actually, I was talking about the tributes."

I've totally forgotten all about the tributes. "What?"

"Better run to your friends in the control room, before I ask my men to take them." She closes her eyes, as if the next stream of words from her will help us immensely, but will bring nothing but a rain of terror to her son. And Gale. "The Games won't start on Monday. They're sending the tributes in _today._"

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: Holla! Reviews, please? Your comments are the only things that fuel me in writing this story. Help me finish it by reviewing! Thank you! :)_**


	15. Locked Up

Freezing and unfreezing in a matter of seconds, I try to process the information I just heard. The words run in ceaseless motion inside my head. But should it make sense? And why do I care? All I need to do is get to Gale, and-

Abrupt as a hit to the head, Peeta's holding my hand, pulling me away, and we're running, Johanna close behind, because three of Paylor's men are suddenly pursuing us, chasing us through the lavishly decorated mansion halls with their brilliant tapestries hung on every wall.

"What's going on?" I ask stupidly, my legs pumping hard. "Why are they after us?"

"I don't know," Peeta says.

"Just run, idiots," says Johanna. "We can't let them catch us."

So we run.

But it's fruitless labor, because we reach a dead end. I don't know how long I ran, but judging from the perspiration on my skin, we've put up quite a chase. We don't have anything to defend ourselves with. Only Peeta has the strength to fight those men, but if he's planning to try, he doesn't show it. About five minutes later, we're cuffed and gagged, thoroughly defeated, as the men escort us to some kind of prison. There is a collection of cells, with only one solid wall each. The rest of their sides are thick metal bars. Haymitch, Enobaria, and Beetee are already locked inside their own little cells, looking dejected.

_Oh, look how far we've come._

I'm released from my cuffs and gag and thrown into my prison cell. "Maybe you should have known better than to meddle," says my captor as he firmly locks the door to my cell using a rectangular plastic card. He leaves with his giant friends. No jail guard. Just us. With virtually unbreakable bars fashioned with high-tech locks.

At least I can see my friends through the bars. I wonder why these cells were constructed this way. It occurs to me that maybe seeing whatever form of torture done to your co-captives will unhinge you, too. Clever.

"I'm sorry," I say loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Not your fault," says Beetee, ever the nice guy. "For a ray of sunshine, Katniss, they're not going to show the Games outside this mansion. We were going to tell you, but, well, we got held up."

I take this news in quite calmly. "What's their point, then?"

"I think it's designed for just us. Snow is very, very old and insane."

"Agreed." Then I withdraw and slump down against the only solid wall on one corner of my cell, which remarkably has a television mounted on the bars above the door. As I look, it flickers to life, showing only the Capitol seal on the screen, accompanied by the anthem. After the anthem ends, the seal remains fixed on the screen with a flat audio tone.

Snow. That evil, cunning man. Not for the first time, I wish I'd killed him when I had the chance. Now he's up there again, playing a game that we cannot win.

"Hey, team leader." I look up. It's Johanna from the cell across mine.

"Yeah?"

"I highly suggest that we find a way to get out of here."

"I can see that. Does anybody have dazzling ideas? I don't."

Nobody answers. "You happy, Mason?" I ask, an edge to my voice.

"I'm grand." I watch her look up at her own television. She doesn't address me again.

My thoughts drift to Gale. I was just beginning to welcome him back to me. I was just trying to tell myself that everything was okay. Then he's taken away from me.

"Don't touch me, you jerk!" yells a familiar voice.

Moments later, Annie Cresta is sitting inside the cell beside mine. I can see her through the bars, her eyes defiant, her posture proud. One guard lingers and sits on a chair. "Don't even think about escaping, ladies and gentlemen. Just a friendly reminder," he says.

Just to test my luck, I put a finger on one bar. A jolt sends my whole hand shaking. The bars have electricity running through them. Freshly activated for new occupants.

"Annie," I call. She looks at me. "Where's Finnick?" I ask.

"With the president," she says gravely. "Do you reckon she's going to hurt him?"

I shake my head no, thinking back to Paylor's hysterical episode about his son, his Thaddeus. "He's safe," I assure Annie.

"What are we going to do?"

I slip a hand between two bars, careful not to touch those evil things, and latch it onto Annie's. "I guess we wait."

Drawing my hand back, a microscopic portion of my skin grazes the bar. I shriek in shock, although I knew that would happen. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." I even risk a smile. "I'm okay."

_I'm okay, my face._ I once again take refuge in the corner of my prison cell, trying to block out this weird mixture of anger, disappointment, and grief coming to a boil inside me. Out of nowhere, Prim takes center stage in my head. I remember her in all her innocent beauty. Her sage wisdom. She's here, blond and blue-eyed, singing forbidden songs when our mother was not listening, sharing impossible dreams, twirling with me on the night of Annie and Finnick's wedding. I was supposed to do this for Prim. To avenge her. Killing Snow would have done the trick. But now I'm imprisoned, with no means of escape, as the last batch of tributes in history rolls in.

I'm pulled out of my reverie when the flat audio tone on the television is replaced by a voice, not Claudius Templesmith's, issues from the speakers of the television. _"Let the final Hunger Games begin!" _

__A sharp intake of breath. Rapidly blinking eyes. A strange tear, alone and unaccompanied, lodged on the corner of my right eye. This is it. The manifestation of the war I have sorely lost.__

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: Sorry this one took so long! Hope you liked it. Kindly leave a review. Thank youuuuu!_ **


	16. The Games

Three, two, one.

The tribute tubes are rising. All twenty-four of them now stand on their circular platforms, taking in the arena lying before them in all its frozen glory. The temperature must have been cranked down to a negative figure, judging from the way the children wrap their arms around themselves despite wearing seemingly reliable jackets. White puffs of air come from their nostrils as they struggle to breathe. A powerful gust of wind ripples through the arena as the sixty seconds of waiting slowly consumes itself.

A camera pans all the way around the vast wasteland and shows us the cornucopia, ringed by a wide sheet of thin ice about thirty feet across, and filled to capacity with state-of-the-art weapons, sealed food packages, and thick rolls of fabric. To keep them warm, I suppose. Back to the tributes. zoom in on a handsome boy of about seventeen, looking defiant. But he can't quite mask the chattering of his teeth. Another one: a red-haired girl, the one who picked a fight with Johanna. Her eyes are as red as her hair.

I'm getting a good view of the snow-capped mountain when the gong sounds. Cut back to the tributes. About a third of them scramble away from the fray and into the woods. The rest step on the ice. A horrific crack startles them. Too late.

The ice breaks beneath their feet.

The tributes thrash and flail in the freezing water for a good while before they remember to swim. Their legs must be numb. I half-expect unknown beasts to start chomping the children's limbs off, but none materialize.

A tall boy reaches the cornucopia first, and taking advantage of the situation, scoops up wicked-looking instruments of death from the golden interior walls of the horn. I can't help but be reminded of Cato. The boy disappears from view and reappears a moment later, loaded with triumph, until he realizes that there is no other way out save for swimming through the black water again. His weapon haul suddenly looks like a death-inducing burden. He must now defend the cornucopia, now his base.

He should have just dropped the weapons and flown from the scene.

Because as he's standing at the edge of the piece of land he's claiming, a strong pair of arms surfaces from the little waves and pulls him down. Caught off guard, he can only give a surprised little yelp before he goes under. I wait patiently for the cannon to fire. But he isn't a goner. Before his attacker can hoist himself up onshore, boy number one somehow breaks into the surface, gasping, but still clutching his knife, which he buries decisively into his co-tribute's back. Three seconds later, the cannon booms.

_First blood._

I don't even have time to feel sorry for the boy who died. Probably horrified by his deed, boy number one quickly plunges the knife into _his_ own chest. The water turns darker from the blood spewing from his body, but he doesn't die. Not yet, at least. He must have missed his heart, but his mortal wound drags him down under.

The camera switches to a view of the cornucopia, where about five tributes are currently pillaging for weapons and food and heavy sweaters. They are now a hunter pack, I can tell. They cooperate in driving away incoming tributes and pushing them back to the water. The wind howls, and the waves intensify.

Boy number one's cannon finally booms. That's the first time I saw suicide in the arena.

A few tributes have the good sense to abandon their perilous quest through the cold lake. One of them is my old friend Scylla Crane. She's reversing. She's going back to where she came from. Good. I hope she makes it. Scylla finally reaches a circular platform and swings her arms around it to hoist herself back onto dry land. Soaking wet, she shivers when the rough winter wind pierces her skin.

Two more cannons. Four casualties in four minutes. What fun.

A new shot. The ground about the cornucopia has splotches of red. The bloodbath rages on. Hacking, stabbing, hitting. It goes on and on. The dead and the dying are sprawled on the sand. Some float face-up on the water. I hear wails of agony. Of pleading._ God! No!_

_Mommy!_

I stop counting the number of times the cannon fires. To say the least, it's sick. Who would have thought I'll ever see something like this again? Then I realize that I have to stop thinking about myself. Those kids are dying out there and I'm sitting here. To save us weary viewers from the sight of more blood, the camera switches to the woods. The siblings I was supposed to mentor have followed my advice. They're clinging to each other as they trudge through the snowy woods. They are alive for now. That's more than I could ask for.

Is this what it feels like to be a mentor? Helplessness. And consequently, desperation.

Scylla's out there somewhere. Safe at the moment. But very, very cold.

A few more shots of the other tributes, then back at the cornucopia. The same five kids remain standing. One of them has a bloody gash on her forehead that a boy is attending to. The camera lingers long enough for us to see that after the girl's fixed up, the boy leans in and kisses her. Quickly. Before the others can see, he has pulled away. But the girl mouths a few words. Three words, to be exact. _I love you._

Suddenly, I'm thinking of Peeta and the cold nights in the cave.

_Snap out of it._

I focus on the dead. But I don't count them. The wind picks up again, and a slight fall of snow dusts the corpses. Soon, the hovercraft arrives to pick them up, to carry them back home. Do they have families? I remember that we're the only ones watching the Games. Nobody else knows. I tell myself it's better that way. I almost hope that their families have died before them. To spare them the pain.

A montage of the landscape, then back to the woods. Scylla Crane is holding a walking stick, trekking alone. She stops to catch her breath behind a big rock. She's good to go again when she hears a sound. I hear it too. The weeping of a child. Scylla looks around, trying to identify the source of the noise. I see it before she does because the camera gives me a bigger perspective. There. All bundled up behind a thick bush covered with white.

Scylla spots the bundle and cautiously approaches it. When she pokes it with her stick, the crying goes louder and the top of the bundle falls off, revealing the near-frozen face of a little boy. His eyes are puffy, but familiar. He looks like someone I know. What on earth is he doing in the arena? Scylla asks my questions for me. "I'm cold," says the little boy, his teeth chattering. He's shaking all over. He looks about five, six years old. "What are you doing here?" asks Scylla.

"Mo-mommy's enemies."

My mind is reeling. Scylla looks baffled. "Come here," she says, hugging the kid close to her body, although she's shaking as well. "Shhh. Don't cry. It's okay. Shh, baby. What's your name?"

The poor boy huffs. "Thaddeus."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Hullo! Please leave a review, thank you! College in three days. I am not a happy camper.** _


	17. My Jail Guard, My Friend

"Katniss, are you okay?"

It's Peeta. I must have looked pretty shaken, because his voice seems full of concern. I shrug without looking in his direction. All I can think of is how badly I need to get out of here. But with no one to help, I'm as stuck as a rabbit trapped in quicksand. The television demands my attention again.

Scylla, bless her heart, has now taken full responsibility over the president's son. She doesn't ask any more questions. She just says, "Okay, Thaddeus. You'd have to stick with me, all right?" Thaddeus nods and snuggles against Scylla. Much to my annoyance, the scene changes, and this time it shows the hunter pack encampment at the cornucopia. They've made short work of the junk inside; they have piled the weapons against one wall, and the tributes are sitting close to each other, trying to keep each other warm.

The couple are sitting a little farther away from the other three. The girl with the bandaged forehead has her head tucked beneath her boyfriend's chin. They're holding hands. And they're whispering to each other. I really have no intention of eavesdropping on them, but the ultra-sensitive cameras can pick up even the faintest sounds. "...We have to stay the night, Belle," the boy is saying. Belle starts complaining, which is rather hard in hushed tones. She says, "But I don't trust them. Do you?" The boy shakes his head slightly, but from their position, Belle doesn't see it. "Jake. Are you listening to me?"

"I don't, okay? But it's worse out there. We'll make a run for it one day."

Belle gives up. "I rest my case."

"Do you trust me?"

"I trust you." Belle faces her boyfriend. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Jake says, and is rewarded what looks like a deep, lingering kiss by Belle. I can't watch, really. Nothing haunts me more than the thought that those two could be dead before the day is over, and they seem so oblivious to it. When I stare up at the screen again, the two are asleep. Nothing fancy, nothing hot. So the camera chooses another tribute to humiliate, and finds it in the person of a girl of about sixteen. She is hiding out in a cave with nothing to keep her body heat in check but the standard tribute uniform. She's probably one of the kids who ran away to the woods as soon as the gong sounded. She has her back against the cave wall and she's rubbing her hands together furiously. Her lips are already a little blue. If the currently hibernating hunter pack didn't get her, the cold will.

The cameras show footages of the tributes one more time before focusing on the mountain. The shot remains stagnant for a long while. _How rudely un-entertaining._ If I were a Capitol citizen three years ago, this is what I would be saying.

I finally look away, and see our jail guard, whom I've forgotten the presence of, confidently staring in my direction. Not at me, but at Annie. She doesn't know it yet. The jail guard is slouching on his chair and is greedily running his eyes up and down Annie's frail frame. He catches me watching him watching Annie, but he doesn't mind me in the least. I didn't mean to notice, but there's a disgusting bulge in his pants.

But he's not going to do anything, is he?

"Hey, Mr. Jail Guard," I say by way of distraction. "What are you doing?"

The dirty man doesn't look fazed. "I'm guarding you and your friends, Ms. Everdeen. I thought that was obvious."

"You're guarding us. Sure. So get your filthy eyes off my friend, and, God, keep it in your pants."

He flushes furiously, for everyone's eyes are now on him. "Shut your trap, or I might kill you."

I'm just getting started. "Okay, buddy. Let me out."

"Katniss..." Peeta warns, but Johanna cuts him off. "That's hardly fair, bud. Let me out, too, and it's a match," she says.

Haymitch laughs. I start cracking up, too. Seconds later, all of us are laughing, even Annie, who never quite figured it out. Our jail guard shakes his head in frustration and humiliation. "What's it gonna be, bud?" I taunt. Calling him bud is even funnier. "It's just a swipe of your little card. Come on."

The television is still showing the mountain.

"Shut. Your. Trap."

"Let. Me. Out."

Mr. Jail Guard gets up from his chair and walks over to my cell. He swipes it open. Well, I didn't see that one coming. I've crossed some obscure line and now he's going to do what he said he would. I stand up, testing my luck. Would he really let me out? He opens the door, enters, and closes it quickly behind him. _Oh, dear. _

He's a clear head taller than me, and about twice as wide. He shoves me against the only solid wall with one neat push. I'm in no physical condition to fight. He presses his body against me. "Don't _even_ think about it, you filthy little jackass," I snap, trying to appear in control of the situation. I wiggle out of his weight, but he pins me down. His breath is oppressive. "You don't want it for your friend? Cool. Let's try you, then."

"Gee, don't breathe on me," I say, but I'm already panicking. No one has ever been this physically close to me without my permission. "Stop touching me!" I yell. But his face is already on my neck and I can't do anything but try to push him away. I will not scream. A thousand curses are already thrown in his way by my friends. But they're as impotent as I am. There is too much yelling. Beating against the electric bars. I can only exhaust my strength in a futile attempt to get his skin off of me.

He's already tugging at my pants. I can't kick him because he's too close. I struggle underneath him. There are already tears in my eyes. "You're a monster," I say forcefully. "I bet your wife's not gonna like this. Or do you even have a wife? You don't, right? Because you're a molesting jerk who can't keep a woman. Why, bud? I bet my life you haven't had a woman without getting her this way. Real sweet. Talk to me, bud. Talk t-"

A ferocious slap sends my head throbbing.

"You're so mad because it's true, eh?" I can't see straight. I can't even breathe, what the hell. But at least he's not rubbing his rapist skin on me anymore. He slaps me again. "Hurting girls. What's your pop gonna say?" I have lost the ability to think straight. "But, really, keep at it, bud. Maybe your boss will like me bruised and bleeding and begging for my life. But not dead, okay? Take it easy."

Another slap. I think he might start punching me, but a new voice echoes down the hallway. "Enough," it says. My assailant turns away from me. An old man in a wheelchair, accompanied by two guards, strolls in. The great president Snow. "Free her. And that boy, too," he says, indicating Peeta. "She might need her lover." He fixes upon me a look laden with so much malice, I'm afraid I could kill him right here, right now. "Or are they lovers still?"

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><p><strong><em>AN: How about a review? Thanks! You guys are awesome._**


	18. Blindsided

True to his word, Snow only has Peeta and me released. I shoot Mr. Jail Guard a look of loathing, and then say to Snow, as flatly as I could manage without breaking down, "You have a rapist on your team." Snow, my pal, laughs. "You're fired, Barton."

Peeta walks over to me and quietly asks if I'm okay. When I don't answer, he says, "That was close."

"I know."

"If anything happened to you-"

"Don't worry about me." I look away from Peeta and focus my gaze on my friends, looking royally pissed-off. "Let them go, too," I demand Snow. I only get a forceful "No."

"Where are you taking us?" Peeta asks.

Snow smiles-a grotesque expression. What I wouldn't have given not to have seen that."Does it matter? You're my favorite people, you two. Relax."

"I feel so special," I mutter.

They only bring us to Paylor's office, where a large screen is installed in front of the sturdy desk. I'm still seeing the mountain. "What, now?" I ask, impatient. Snow asks us to sit, but out of sheer rebellion, we don't. I cross my arms and stare at the old man. He looks worse now than when I last saw him. He's probably around seventy, and completely, unequivocally, not aging nicely. A talking corpse, by my generous estimation. His skin hangs loosely from his bones, pale and wrinkled, his hair purely white, his lips no longer artificially puffy. He looks weak, but you should have seen his eyes. Bright and malicious as ever. "Now is not the time to kill each other, eh? Let's save that for later. I'm an old man. So I guess we recount the good old days."

Snow brings out a remote control from his coat pocket and presses a button. The mountain view shifts into an aerial shot of the cornucopia, where the hunter pack looks like they're getting ready for hardcore action. Snow punches another switch and the arena ground trembles, setting off about a score of mockingjays careening from the frosted branches and launching into the air. While the ground rumbles, the Capitol anthem plays, and the face of the dead begin appearing in the sky. They didn't come from any district, so the invisible projector just shows their photos-richly brought-up kids, already with a dew signs of physical alterations those of their ilk consider high fashion, bright-eyed and proud.

But you cannot bring your pride to death.

There are eleven of them. Thirteen remain, if you do not count poor Thaddeus, which I suppose you should. "So you've got the main controls as well," I observe. Snow ignores me. Plowing through, I ask, "Why did you send Paylor's son in there?" although I already have a believable hypothesis. Snow keeps the remote control in his pocket and looks at me with amusement. "Why, indeed, Ms. Everdeen? It's time you learned the rules of this little game."

"Don't give me that hogwash."

"Hogwash. What a word. Have you been studying up?" He chuckles good-naturedly. "About your question, now. I think you know. Look at you. Sharp as a knife."

I give him an approximation of an evil grin. "With nails of lethal steel to rake your face with, I hope."

Peeta speaks up. "You have those kids in there. You have us on front-row seats. Why didn't you just leave Paylor's son out?"

Snow waves his guards away with a flick of his hand, and they exit without question. "Why don't you ask her?" Snow answers, pointing at me.

I don't even blink. "He means it's a very half-assed and idiotic decision on his part." Snow's rage is palpable under his pale skin. "Live long enough, fire girl, and you'd know that _half-assed_ decisions would never accomplish anything but grim failure."

"You know, that's what I'm wishing for here," I say. I brush stray strands of hair from my eyes and add, "_If_ I live long enough. Which you won't allow."

I feel Peeta's hand on my arm. I know, I know. I'm about to say too much, endangering our chances, which at this point are already painfully slim. I understand his point, but I don't take orders from anyone. I shake his hand off and shoot him an irritated glance before I realize that Snow is staring at us as if we were a television show. "Just an old man's curiosity," he begins, "But what happened to the star-crossed lovers thing? Didn't really work out, did it?"

I open my mouth for a smart comment then close it again upon becoming aware that I have none. Even Peeta, who I've counted on to act in my place when words fail me, is looking at the ground. We're both working on a response, but don't arrive at any. My only defense is that I'm having trouble thinking because of the vicious slaps Barton the rapist gave me. So, having been shut up by that infuriatingly awkward question, I force myself to look at the screen. Just in time, too.

The hunter pack is on the move. And they're closing in on a kill.

Their target is a scrawny thirteen-year-old. I remember her face because Annie mentored her. Hazel eyes, tall nose. She's sitting by a pathetic fire in a bid to warm her hands and face. But all fires produce smoke, and now she's going to pay for her ignorance.

The leader of the hunters crashes through the foliage and startles the little girl. She screams once, a helpless yelp, like that of a cornered animal. Then she runs. In vain. The others have crowded around her, cutting off any means of evasion. "Don't scream," the leader, a huge girl with hair as dark as mine, says as she strides with long legs to her prey. She takes her time. When she reaches the little girl, she brings out a short knife from her belt and raises it. The little girl has closed her eyes. She says, "One slice. Or one stab. Do it quick."

The leader hesitates. "Why?" the little girl inquires, opening her eyes. She's about to add something when her hazel eyes widen in shock. And later, agony. Blood bubbles from her mouth and she drops like a stone to the snow-strewn earth. She lies flat on her stomach. A nasty stab has punctured her jacket and skin and muscle and heart from the back. Her eyes are open, but she's quite dead.

The cannon confirms it moments later.

"Fun," says Snow. "I always like pre-death defiance."

That's it. Disgust at this vile human being suddenly runs in torrents in my bloodstream. Without thinking, I swing my arm in his direction. Just one neat little backhanded blow to his seventy-year-old cheek. I am just so _done._

But a hand stills my arm. I turn, bewildered, and see President Paylor holding my arm and twisting it behind me. She sneers at me. "Use your head, Katniss. Hit him, Gale dies."

"Wha-" I jerk my arm free, already seeing Paylor's logic. She's just protecting her son, even extending her compassion to Gale to get to me. The thought of Gale being beaten bloody as we speak fills me with a nameless horror. But apparently, Snow sees it as something else. He laughs. Peeta stirs beside me and he steps in front of me as I instinctively step forward, causing me to run into his back. "Get out of my way," I spit.

"No way you're taking another step," he says, but he moves aside.

"What's funny?" I ask Snow.

"It's actually a matter of _who,_ Ms. Everdeen," he replies. "I was laughing at Gertrude over there."

I realize that Paylor is Gertrude. Gertrude is Paylor. I feel betrayed. "I didn't know you guys were on a first-name basis around here. What's next, swapping stories by the fire?"

Snow laughs again, and there's so much malice in it, I regret not hitting him. "I think it's just fitting. My calling her by her first name."

Peeta asks why. Paylor has turned as white as the snow in the arena. I look at her intently, then back at Snow. He appears as if he's having an undeniably good time watching Paylor blanch and Peeta and me struggle for reason. "What? Didn't you have personal introductions when you met?" Snow asks in this incredulous voice.

Paylor regains her composure, but her voice is still uncertain when she speaks. "It's none of their business. Leave them out of it."

"I think I'll tell them, Gertrude."

"Tell us what?" Peeta demands in a tone that commands attention.

"Ah, Mr. Mellark. I'll give you a hint. Politics runs in the family. Two consecutive Snows in the presidency."

An answer dawns on me, but Snow must be playing tricks on my mind again. "But-"

"Patience, Ms. Everdeen."

Paylor looks like she wants to be shot in the head with a semi-automatic rifle. But she decides to break it to us, anyway. "Paylor was my mother's surname. They weren't married. This makes me feel ashamed to have been born at all, Katniss, Peeta. But it's the truth, and I can't take that away from you." She looks worse. Then she inhales sharply before saying, "Coriolanus Snow is my father."

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><p><strong><em>AN: Reviews? College has started, and it's getting in the way, but I hope you're still there._ _Thank you!_**


	19. History

"Wait." They all turn to gaze at me- Snow amused, Paylor emphatic, Peeta concerned. Are they expecting me to utter something hauntingly philosophical? I hope not, because I'm still working on believing what I just heard. "I..." I announce. "Am going to sit down." Snow laughs lightly as I crash on the chair. Peeta sits, too, under the same weight.

Paylor is Snow's daughter? How? And, God, the irony-Paylor led the fight against her own blood. It's pretty dirty blood, and I would have done the same thing, but still. "I'm going to explain it to you, Katniss," Paylor says, pacing the room with her arms crossed over her chest. No. I don't have the slightest desire to hear an explanation. All I want to do is to get out of here and rescue Gale. Even killing Snow doesn't make much of an impression on me anymore.

"Get out," commands Paylor to Snow, and the old man wheels out of the office, still chuckling like the mad man that he is. As soon as the door closes behind him Paylor continues, "I learned he was my father two months ago. When he met my mother, he wasn't the president yet, just a lowly official on an important errand. My mother was a pretty young thing in love with the Capitol's ideas, or so they tell me. She jumped off a bridge a day after my birth because of the discrimination people threw at her when they found out she had a child with a Capitol man. They never found the body." She pauses, her expression unreadable. She leans her hips against the table and stares out the window at the mid-afternoon sky. "My grandmother raised me. I knew my parents weren't married. I knew my father was from the Capitol. See, my grandma loved my mother dearly, but she didn't want her daughter being seen with one of our enemies. She banned my mother from going out with him, but it was too late. Well, anyway, she was already pregnant with me. My grandma told me everything, bit by bit, before she tucked me in at night. Everything, that is, except my father's name. I grew up hating the Capitol, thank God. I became a rebel. Then a wife. My husband died in the war. Then a mother. I don't know for how long."

Paylor has finished. She looks at us as if expecting a reply. I have none to offer, but Peeta does. "How did he know you're his daughter?" he asks quietly.

"He kept track of me, I guess. Must have loved my mother."

"He put his own grandson in the arena..."

Paylor inhales heavily, but her breath catches in her throat so she almost sounds choked. "Yes, he did. I should just have killed him when I found him."

"Yeah, you should have," I say loudly. "And you could have. But you didn't, because you're a sniveling coward." Even I am amazed, and duly horrified, by the boldness and recklessness of my poorly based accusation. Paylor appears pained. "Katniss..." she begins. But I'm not done yet. "You shouldn't even have given him the chance to tell you he's your father. He did that not out of compassion, but to twist your mind. You of all people should have guessed that. You hesitated. He took the hint. Sauntered over and took your son." _Now he has Gale, too. _The bitterness is plain, cold, and merciless in my voice.

"You know that Gale wouldn't die in this mess. You are young, Katniss." Paylor sighs. "Not young like you used to be, but still searching the world over for straight reasons. I would give everything to be back in your place, when not a single thing escaped my criticism, when I thought there was line cleanly dividing good and evil. It isn't like that. I could be wrong, for what is my opinion but temporary? At this stage, though, I'm convinced that there are no absolutes. Everything is a little bit of something, and there are no straight lines when it comes to cognitive thinking. The lines go around in circles. They clash. If I ever learned anything in my life, it's that people could change. A lot of factors could favor change. Power. Greed. Stuff like that. But beneath the dirt, there lies the original, uncorrupted and incorruptible state, still far from pure, but closer to it than anywhere else."

I stare at her.

"Are you implying that even after everything he's done, you still believe in Snow?"

She shakes her head. "I don't believe in him. I can't do that. Do you think it's physically possible? I just recognize the man he must have been before, when he fell in love with my mother."

"You're delusional," I observe shortly.

"Maybe I am. Can you do me a favor?"

"Kill Snow?" I guess. She smiles, and for the first time in a long time I see the revolution forever brewing in her clever, but still human, head. "That, soon. But for now, we have to wrench the controls from him. The Gamemaker's controls have been overriden, and there's no way to get to the children in the arena except through him." I nod. But something tugs at me from the back of my mind. "Are we going to get everybody out?" I ask. "Or just Thaddeus?"

At this precise moment, Snow chooses to open the door. He wheels into the room, saying, "Just Thaddeus. Poor kid."

We all look at him. "Come on, Gertrude, daughter. All you care about is your son."

"He's your grandson," I point out.

"Yes, but it wouldn't be healthy to pretend to guilt, to pretend to pain that you do not feel. Gertrude gave me the main controls."

Paylor seems to be seething under her mask of calm. "I gave him the controls in exchange for my son."

"Not a very smart move," I say.

"You don't how it feels. Like a trapped animal," she retorts.

I do, actually. During the war, when Peeta was in Snow's clutches, I felt like I was cracking from the inside because I wanted to save Peeta but couldn't because they wouldn't let me risk my Mockingjay face. Now I feel it again, but for Gale. But I'm not stupid enough to say that out loud. Instead, I deliver my message in a broad stroke. "Tell us what you want, Snow."

The old man smiles through his perfectly white dentures. "I want to die."

"That's easy," I say.

"Ha. Not too quick. I want to kill these kids, too. I also want to kill you." The smile fades from his wrinkled face. "Then, I can die."

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><p><strong><em>Thanks for reading! Reviews? :)<em>**


	20. Break You

The guards materialize before I can respond. One grabs me, pins my arms behind my back and holds me in a manner that isnowhere near gentle. With a start I realize that the guard is Barry. Jawbreaker. I curse under my breath, remembering the man whose jaw he broke that one night in a fit of rage. He could snap my skull in half with one fist. "Hello, Barry," I say, tears stinging my eyes.

"You know him?" Peeta demands, straining against a guard of his own.

"Yes," I reply as calmly as I could muster.

Barry doesn't make a verbal comment, but he does tighten his death grip on me. Once I feel one of his hands let go of my arms to take a perverse feel of my behind. Snow apparently sees this, for he says, "I can give you a room, Barry."

I yell a particularly offensive word. Barry laughs.

Only Paylor is not handled by Snow's guards. "He will kill Thaddeus if I make one move to help you," she tells us. She gives me a morose glance. "I'm sorry." Then she walks away without another word, closing the door behind her with a soft thud.

"Clever enough," remarks Snow. "But I never would have apologized."

"Yeah, because you're soulless," I snap.

Snow ignores this and motions to one of his guards. The guard nods once and goes outside. A moment later he returns, followed by two other guards half-dragging a semi-unconscious young man between them. I have to look twice before it dawns on me who the young man is.

Gale.

A sound escapes my mouth: a strangled shout that somehow reaches Gale's ears, for he looks up weakly and trains his eyes on me. For one moment I see his bruised face. _"Gale."_

My gaze drifts to Peeta. He's watching me with a sort of pained expression. I bow my head resignedly.

"What do you want?" I ask the floor.

I hear Snow. "Look up, darling."

_"WHAT DO YOU WANT?!"_

"Just look up, darling. That's what I want. It's easy." His voice sounds like a grandfather's.

Almost involuntarily, my head tilts up. I see Snow smiling in his wheelchair, very much like a grandfather, but a demented one. Gale is kneeling on the floor, but he's so weak, he can't hold himself up without assistance from his guards. "_Gale_," I call out. He doesn't respond anymore.

Then the flogging begins.

First they rip off his bloody shirt. Then they kick his stomach. Gale doubles over and nearly falls, but they hold him steady. They hit him repeatedly, until multicolored bruises darken his olive skin. They hit him until blood dribbles from his mouth, runs along his chin, and falls in little droplets onto the carpet.

I stop thinking. And start remembering.

This has happened before. In the whipping post. I remember his hands, tied raw above his head. I remember the wicked whip, slashing at him until he couldn't take it anymore. I remember myself, rushing forward to block the attacks with my own body. But I can't rush forward now, no matter how hard I try. Barry has a grip like molten lead.

The tears finally fall.

They're now hitting his face. One fist after the other. His cheeks are swollen and bruised. He's coughing up more blood. His eyes are closed. Can people die from flogging?

The scream works its way out of my throat, out of my mouth, and into the air. "_STOP IT!_" The more I struggle, the more they hurt Gale. But I still try. "_Please!" _

The punches never stop.

_"No! You're killing him! Stop it! Please!"_

My throat feels like it has been scraped with a knife, and my voice fades to a dying whisper. Even the tears have dried up. "Please," I say. My arms are tired from struggling. "Please."

The blows keep on coming. But this time, they let go of Gale, and he crumples to the floor. They kick him with their leather boots before they leave him alone. Barry lets go of me so suddenly, I find myself falling forward. I land on my knees in front of Gale, and I attempt to rouse him. When he doesn't stir, I break down again. I gather him in my arms, all hundreds of pounds of him, and lay his head on my lap.

Peeta appears beside me and takes Gale's wrist to feel for a pulse, which, in my panic, I have forgotten to do. "He's alive."

I sob in relief. "Gale," I choke out. "Hang in there." I cradle his face in my hands, his stubble prickling my skin. I press my lips against his forehead, once. "Somebody get a doctor," I whisper.

I hear Snow's malicious laugh. "But that would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?" He motions to his guards again, and seconds later, two guards arrive, carrying between them Annie Cresta.

And they do it again.

She's a woman, I want to say, but they don't take exceptions.

By the time it is over, I can't even speak anymore. I have lost my voice after all the screaming, the pleading, the crying. Even Peeta's eyes are red, and he's sniffing. He asks, "Why don't you just kill us and get it over with? Why did you have to show us that?"

All I can think of is how as each second passes, Gale's and Annie's lives are ebbing away, and we're just standing here, awaiting our own demises. But I think I understand. "Hey, old man," I say.

"Yes, Ms. Everdeen?"

"I get you. You want to break us. You want to break _me. But you can't._" I feel conviction running through me. But I also know that I'll die, anyway. Sure. I wholeheartedly accept that. "You can't break me. Not anymore, Snow. I've already been broken too many times to go through it again. I'm tired of being broken." It's true. I feel like I've already been broken so much, I can't even begin to assemble the pieces back together before a new situation comes up and breaks me again. The parts of me are so far apart. There's no chance of gluing them back in place. But I can live with that. I can get new pieces. I can dream new dreams. I can live again. I can love again.

"It's all your fault," I say. "You break me every time, old man, congratulations. But you've also taught me how to recycle myself for a new life. We get up, we get broken, we heal, we get up, then we get broken again. It's a cycle, Snow. Thank you for teaching me that."

Snow's emotion hardly changes. "Did you have that speech memorized?"

I don't even respond anymore. I just walk over to Gale and Annie and take their pulses. They're still alive, thank God. Snow is a hopeless case. If I can't change him, then I must kill him. But he's not finished with his tricks yet. "Barry, does the Paylor have a tv in her quarters?"

"Yes, sir. It's also been overriden. She can't turn it off."

"Good."

Barry grabs me again, but this time, I don't fight him. I simply look at the television. "I guess this is when you kill all of the tributes."

Snow says, "You're right, but not at the same time. We'll finish my grandson first."

"You're crazy, did I ever tell you that?"

"I know, Ms. Everdeen. It's okay to be a little crazy with things before you die."

"Paylor will kill you."

"She can't. I'm her father. She had the chance before, but she didn't. She's a wuss."

Snow takes out the controls from his pocket and studies the keys. When he finds the right one, he presses it. The monitor rapidly moves to a shot of Scylla and Thaddeus huddled together in the cold. A dozen wolves appear out of nowhere and charge towards the two children. They're sleeping. They don't move.

I avert my gaze from the screen, but I do hear one scream. Only one. I don't feel anything but the frantic jig of my heart.

Another scream.

A cannon goes off.

Then another.

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><p><strong><em>AN: Hello! How's your summer? I hope you liked this one. We're almost there, so hang on. Reviews are greatly appreciated! Merci beaucoup! :)_**


	21. Grief

The rest goes by in a blur.

Snow's head blows open.

His blood splatters all over the carpet. His hand is still holding the controls, fixed in that position forever, for he will never move again.

My ears ring from the gunshot, which I wasn't responsible for. Standing in the doorway and behind the wheelchair is Gertrude Paylor. Tears have left streaks on her face. She's breathing heavily. Her eyeliner is smeared under her eyes.

And she's holding a big black gun in her hands.

I remember Snow's voice. _She can't. She had the chance before and she didn't. She's a wuss._ He was wrong. I might have stayed in the same stance for an hour, trying to process the fact that Paylor had just shot her father, had not Gale moaned on the floor. I stumble to him and hold his hand. Annie is still unconscious. "Peeta, can we get people to help us?"

It's Paylor who responds. "I've called doctors and aides. They'll be here in a minute. I've also had your friends released." She gives me a look I can't decipher. The only thing I recognize in that look is my own mother's face in the days after Prim died. Then she leaves.

The people arrive soon. First, they take away Gale and Annie on stretchers, then they attend to me and Peeta. We're not injured-at least, not physically. Snow's men are arrested and detained immediately. It's easy, really. There aren't many of them and once their leader died, they broke ranks and surrendered. Lastly, Paylor's men take away the body of the man that was once this country's greatest oppressor. The gun that Paylor used was so strong, it literally tore off a chunk of Snow's head. Then they tell us to get out so they can conduct their investigation. Only there's nothing much to investigate.

I eventually find my way to the cells that imprisoned me and my friends, but they're not here. Thinking I will see them later, I head outside the mansion for a breath of fresh air. A homeless Capitol man begs for coins as I pass by. I have none to offer. I stuff my hands into my pockets and walk briskly. I climb up to the rooftop of an abandoned warehouse and make it there just in time to see the sun disappear and the moon rise.

The sky is a bright red-orange, rapidly being eaten up by a rich dark blue hue. I watch the burning sky until all I can see are a handful of stars, hardly visible through all the artificial human lights.

My thoughts drift to Snow. I wonder what made him that way. Why did he like to cause so much pain when he probably never even knew it as a child? How could he have been so bent on destroying, when all his life he had been whole? The answer comes up at once: Maybe he _hadn't_ been whole. Maybe there was something that broke him, too.

But I feel no sympathy. I will always remember him as the great villain of my life. Villains die.

I walk all around the city until my feet give up. Still, I insist on walking myself back to the mansion. I drop by the infirmary.

Gale and Annie are lying in beds next to each other. Both are fast asleep. _Stable, the doctors said._ I squeeze Annie's hand. Then I move over to Gale, lean over, and press my lips against his softly. Like before, he wakes up.

"Catnip," he says weakly, just like before, too.

"Gale," I whisper.

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to sorry for. Rest first, okay? Then we'll talk."

"I don't want to sleep."

"You need it. You've just been beaten by killing machines."

"No."

"Then, wha-"

"Kiss me?" It's a question, but I waste no time thinking about it. I lean down and kiss him again. He might be weak, but he still manages to make me feel warm and terribly alive. I'm afraid to touch him, because he's bruised all over. He makes me feel that thing again. Just with one kiss. I think he smiles. I can't breathe. I don't want to stop. But of course, I have to.

I end up squeezing myself next to him on the bed, my arm carefully draped over his stomach. "Katniss," Gale whispers.

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

* * *

><p>I can't say it back. I know it. I've kissed him, yes. I've cried when he was in pain. I've longed for his warmth. I just don't think I'm ready to love him, after what he's done. I'm saved from answering, because after a minute, Gale's meds kick in and he starts snoring. I slip away gently.<p>

My stomach is grumbling. I go to the commons area. The lights are out, but there's a lone figure standing by the balcony. "Hey," I call out. The figure turns. Paylor. "Please come with me to my quarters." I nod, and she takes me to her chambers. She makes me sit on the sofa and asks me to wait. She returns with a tray of sandwiches and two glasses of juice. "I'm sorry about Annie and Gale," Paylor begins. Her son just died, and she's sorry for me? "They're going to be okay," I say. "Thaddeus-"

"Is safe now," she nearly whispers. "He's somewhere he can't get hurt. Safe," she repeats. She's holding it all in. Suddenly, she's the strongest woman I've ever known. "You're going to be fine, too," I say. "We all heal."

"There's not a wound that time cannot mend," she tells me. "But every rule has exceptions. I will never recover from this." She grabs a sandwich and sets it down again. "Have you ever recovered from Prim?"

"No," I admit. "Not yet." Forgetting Prim would be the ultimate betrayal, and I don't possess the slightest inclination to do that.

Paylor leans back on the sofa. "I want to die, Katniss."

"Unfortunately, Your Excellency, you have a country to run."

"What if somebody took my place? A break would be nice."

"Maybe your work will help you move on."

"I don't think I can move on. I told you, I want to die."

"Well, I better clear out so I don't get accused of killing you."

Paylor laughs. As she laughs, I inhale a sandwich and siphon the juice. I want more. Paylor eats, too. After, she finally says, "It hurts."

"Of course it does." But I know one thing. One is only a slave to pain for a certain amount of time, and once that time passes, the pain will linger, but feeling it stops being mandatory. Being entombed in grief becomes a choice. However, saying that aloud would defeat the make-up of my character, so I keep my mouth shut. Paylor seems to understand this. We both look at the window. I say, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she tells me, then after a moment, adds, "Being the president gives you a lot of power over people, but it never gives you friends. I need a friend. Will it be okay if I break down in front of you, Katniss?"

I can't say no to that. I nod. She finally dissolves into tears. Waves upon waves of sobs rack her frame, and I remember myself grieving for Prim.

Tears pool in my eyes. It's okay, I think. It's okay to break. One more time.

We cry.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Thank you for all your kind words. They mean so much to me. We're almost to the end here. Thank you thank you thank you! More reviews? :)**_


	22. Matters of the Heart

Later that night, I toss and turn in bed, still unable to find sleep, which has been successfully evading me for an hour now. My body tells me to rest and recharge, but of course my rebellious brain is ignoring it. The sheets are creased and untidy from all my unnecessary movements. One pillow is carelessly lying on the floor. I am so tired, but evidently, I have to be thoroughly drained from energy to have the nerve to close my eyes.

Because I don't have anything else to keep myself busy with, I run down the events of the day on my fingers: 1.) We got thrown into jail. 2.) The Games began. 3.) I was molested. 4.) We learned that Paylor was Snow's daughter. 5.) Snow killed Thaddeus. 6.) Paylor killed Snow.

This day couldn't have gone any worse, but at least I have Gale back. Gale. His name sends a shiver through me. I feel like I've been reconnected with the world when we saw each other again. I know in my heart of hearts that I've always held him dear. But just being with him tarnishes Prim's memory. Like spitting on a grave. It's fundamentally wrong.

Then there's Peeta, who I've demoted in my head from lover to awkward friend. I hope he doesn't feel anything for me anymore. I really am not in the condition to deal with complications of the female hormones.

Prim, oh, Prim. My beloved sister and the origin of my present distress. Primrose. If she were here now, she could and she would tell me what to do. I miss her so badly it hurts. Literally. Somewhere around my temple, which has received multiple blows in the past forty-eight hours.

But my pain, both physical and emotional, which has faded to that of a lesser intensity, is nothing compared to Paylor's. She cried until there was virtually no tear left to shed, and I have a vague feeling that she will never cry again. I stare at my pajamas, then at the wall. I take the remote control from the bedside table and switch on the television mounted on the wall. Instead of the Games, another show, probably of Plutarch Heavensbee's creation, is on air. It's a drama. Fiction, and not brutal and real like the Games. Feels good for a change. The Games are over.

Where are the tributes?

There's a knock on my door and I nearly trip over myself to answer it. "I don't care if you're sleeping or killing yourself, but the tributes are here," says Haymitch flatly. He turns on his heel and walks away before I can think of a response. I close the door and follow him.

The others are already assembled at the mentoring room. "Ms. Everdeen," someone calls. Paylor. She beckons for me in one corner. "They're bringing them in. The two consecutive shots we heard weren't from a single place, my techs reported. They're still working on recovering the data logs, so we can't be sure, but what we do know for certain is that only one child died in the wolf attack."

I know where she's getting at. Thaddeus might not be dead. Paylor is clinging onto this false hope like a sailor stranded at sea would cling onto driftwood. I automatically feel a pang of sympathy for her. I can't even find it in me to nod. She must understand. I join my friends.

"It's the second time in a row I got roused from bed in the middle of the night," Johanna says when I greet her with a small smile. "What are we waiting for, anyway?"

"The remaining tributes."

"Like I want to see them."

"Me, too. But they're like us, see? They never finished their Games. They got rescued."

Johanna scowls and crosses her arms. "What, is another war effort going on?"

"No." I smile, for the first time feeling hopeful. Just the birth of a new age.

Six tributes remain. They stand before us now, twelve to sixteen year-olds, all battered, but healing. A lot died in Snow's final act, but these six made it. "There are seven, ma'am, but one is critical and staying at the hospital," an escort informs Paylor. That one child could be Thaddeus. I'm not entertaining the idea, but Paylor is.

"Is he allowed to be visited?" asks the President, quite stupidly in my humble estimation.

The escort looks baffled. "Ma'am-"

"Bring me to him immediately."

The man checks his clipboard. "With all due respect, Your Excellency, I think you're confused. The seventh tribute is a girl. A certain Scylla Crane."

* * *

><p>I glance at Paylor. She has fallen again. She is looking at the floor, recovering from the disappointment. I can't help her. She did it to herself. She recovers quickly enough, though, and she dismisses us, including the tributes. She doesn't talk to me again.<p>

The tributes are sent away to be treated and bathed and fed, and my friends go back to bed. I'm the only one left standing in the mentoring room. I check on Gale- it just feels natural. He's sleeping. This time, I don't kiss him. Then I go where they're keeping Scylla. I spot a graveyard shift doctor and quiz him on Scylla's condition.

"Are you a relative?" he asks warily.

"I'm her mentor."

"Your name is?"

"Katniss Everdeen."

The doctor's eyes widen in recognition, then he says, "She fell into a depression in the ground that was partly shielded by a big rock during the wolf attack. She sustained minor head injuries, but an arm was broken and she might not be able to use it again. Vital signs are stable, though. She will get well soon." I nod. "Thanks."

I look at Scylla through the glass. She is a small mound on the bed, covered up to the chest with a white blanket. A bandage is wrapped around her head, and there are multiple scratches on her face, all of which will heal in time. I can't see her arms under the blanket. The doctor excuses himself. "Does she have any relatives?" I ask.

"Not to my knowledge, why?"

"Nothing." I shrug. "I have to go," he says.

"Okay." I don't remember moving, but the next thing I know, I'm lying on my bed again. As if the loose ends have been tied up, I finally drift off to sleep.

When I awake, I get up at once, causing a wave of dizziness to wash over me, and in that moment of disorientation, I think of Prim, and it hurts all over again. But I get by, I tell myself. I shower and brush my teeth. I pick out a fitted black shirt, jeans, and my usual leather boots. Instead of braiding my hair, I let it down, the dark locks falling against my back.

Before I head to breakfast, I check on Gale again. He's awake, and I ask him how he's doing. "Still a little sore, but better," he says with a smile.

"Good," I say, returning the smile. "Can you walk?"

"I think. Yeah."

"Let's go get some breakfast, then. I'm starving."

Gale nods. I help him up, and in the interaction our hands interlock. I remember last night, when he told me he loved me. I immediately let go. We walk side by side, me helping him every once in a while, when he loses his balance. We reach the dining area and we sit beside each other. There's not much life in the table, even though the whole cast is there. Even Annie, who, surprisingly recovered faster than Gale did. She smiles at me as if nothing happened. She's feeding Finn.

We do what should be done at the dining table: we eat. Nothing else.

Afterwards, though, Gale tells me he's going to his room to shower, then rest. We're at an empty corner. I face him, stand on tiptoe, ready to kiss him. We're so close, his lips brush against mine he speaks. "Please stop kissing me like you mean it."

The first thing that registers inside me is pain. Then hate. Directed at myself. "I do mean it," I say, a harsh whisper.

He sighs. "This is torture for me, Katniss. I hope you understand." He leaves. I don't understand. What is he talking about? At twenty years old, I am still utterly clueless.

"Katniss, what Gale is saying is you shouldn't make him feel all expectant when you're just going to hurt him in the end," Johanna tells me when I run to her to breathe and think.

"I have no intention of hurting Gale," I snap.

"You say that, but you already are," she says. And the realization hits me. Johanna's right. I'm hurting Gale by acting so caring around him and still not telling him upfront what my feelings for him are. "What should I do, then?" I ask, defeated.

"I'm no professional," Johanna says. "But I have to ask you one thing, and you have to answer me honestly."

"Okay."

"Do you love Gale?"

"Of course!" It's almost like an insult, asking me if I love Gale.

"Sorry. I have to rephrase. Are you in love with him?"

There, she nails me. "I don't know." I don't even know if I want to be in love with him. A part of me says, yeah, sure, but the rest is a mess.

"I'm no professional," Johanna repeats. "Listen up. The first step is letting go."

"Let go of what?"

"It's not a matter of what; it's a question of _who_." She looks at me like she's sorry for what she is about to say. "You have to let go of Prim."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: hola amigas! Tell me what you think! Gracias! :)**_


	23. Mending

Suddenly, my blood boils. Just the mention of Prim sends me into a panic. Letting go? I am teetering along the edge of a bottomless chasm. Prim is my anchor to this world, if one can imagine a link between this life and what other world there might be after death.

"I can't do that," I mutter, staring at my shoes and trying to keep my cool. I realize my hands are shaking. It's too much. I immediately come upon the conclusion that I will choose Prim over Gale-over anyone-any time of the year, even though she cannot be with me here anymore. I know how much she will despise this decision, because I know how much she loved to see me happy. But if opening myself up for new possibilities means untying myself from her, I would gladly remain locked up in the darkness. "You know I can't do that," I repeat, this time looking at Johanna in the eye. "Thanks for the advice, though." I get up, preparing to leave.

I'm at the door when Johanna calls out, "Letting go and forgetting are two different things."

I know that, I want to yell into her ears. But I just ask, "And your point is?"

"What I'm getting at is that you shouldn't be limiting yourself to this kind of self-inflicted isolation just because you can't get over Prim's death. It's been three years, brainless," she says, just with the right amount of emotion that reminds me she's not preaching. She's simply stating a fact.

Yeah, it's been three years, yet I still see her face in my memory, untainted by the veil of the passing years. Peeta was one thing. He helped me get through most of the hurt. But he could never fill the hole in my heart, no matter how hard I let him try. There are wars you lose. They don't give you the benefit of death. They cripple you, and leave you to suffer, undead.

Gale is a different case. So I give up.

"I want to love Gale." I take a deep breath. "There. I said it."

Johanna smiles. "Knew it."

However, I'm in no mood for celebration. "But I can't. It doesn't feel right," I say.

"Let me guess. Prim."

I nod and bow my head, because the tears are forming behind my eyes and the last thing I want to do is cry for someone who I doubt can even hear me. Johanna notices, and gently says, "It's not easy." She swore. "It will never be easy, but you gotta do it."

How can I let go without forgetting? I don't say this out loud, but Johanna seems to answer me. "Letting go, as you may already know, is cutting all the strings that tie you to another person. We don't do the cutting, though, because we can't. Humans are terribly selfish creatures. We don't want to understand that people come and go, and sometimes they leave us behind. So time does the cutting for us. It's the great divider. One day you will realize that you've let a person go, even without consciously knowing you have."

I look at Johanna, who has spoken like a queen giving sage words to a peasant in trouble. "Gale must be tired of all the waiting," I say, thinking that I don't have time to heal naturally.

Johanna laughs. "He waited for you through the Games, through the war, and through all of this. If I know one thing, it's that he'll hang around."

"But-"

"I know it, Katniss. You don't have to worry about Gale. Love is a funny thing. Makes you do stupid things, like watching your loved one fall for another person, and still loving her."

"I can't believe I'm talking to you about this."

"Me, too."

I smile. Johanna continues, "Don't rush it, though. Take your own sweet time doing your thing. Time's gonna make you let go one of these days. Forgetting, on the other hand, is a choice. Letting go is something that happens to you, but forgetting is something you choose to do. Or not to do. See the difference?"

I nod. I already understand. "Did you let go of Finnick, too?"

"When I knew it was hopeless, yeah," she says, looking pointedly at the floor, as if it hurt her to remember. I thank her again and excuse myself. I'm turning the knob on the door when Johanna says, "But I never forgot him, see?"

* * *

><p>I meander around the mansion, thinking everything I have to do for the Capitol is done. The tributes are safe, and there will be no more Games. I have to admit that I'm tired. Tired of fighting for something bigger than myself. Tired of winning and losing and receiving only grief in return. I know I shouldn't expect a reward, but I am only human, and not a particularly good one at that. People died-Prim died- in the war that I was at the front line of, and maybe you will think that I fancy myself a hero. I don't, and I never will. I just want to move on.<p>

My feet take me up to the mansion's rooftop. The sun is almost at its zenith (who knew I stayed that long to talk to Johanna?), yet I stay, looking out at the vast mountain ranges far away, so far away that they look more like mole hills than the giant natural formations that they are.

I remember Gale's words from long ago. _We could make a run for it, you know._

Now, I think, I could. I have nothing more to do. There are no more mouths to feed except mine. No more problems to man up enough to face. I'm finally free.

"What are you doing up here?" a voice asks. Peeta.

"What are _you_ doing up here?" I ask in return.

"Nothing," he answers, then quickly adds, "If you wanted to sunbathe, though, I'd have taken you to the beach."

"District 4 is quite far from here," I say.

He smiles. "Look, can we get inside? I have to tell you something." I nod and follow him. When we're inside the elevator, he pushes the button that closes the door but doesn't push the one that should move us down. "I'm not going back to 12," he announces.

I blink. "Why?"

"To get a new life, I guess?"

"Where are you going?"

"Where the beaches are."

"So you're going with Annie?"

"Yes. But I won't be staying long. I want to backpack all over Panem by myself, pick up a girl or two along the way." He smiles when he sees me smiles. I love how I don't feel anything anymore. This is a development, I think, but before I can say anything else, Peeta is wrapping his arms around me. Not affectionately. Just good-naturedly. It feels like something a guy friend would do. I accept his embrace and say into his chest, "Thank you for everything."

He lets go. "Thank you, too." He searches my face with his eyes. "Why are you crying?"

I use the back of my hand to wipe the tears away. "I'm sorry, too," I say. I just want to say everything, because I fear I will never see him again. "I loved you, alright. I really did."

"Me, too. But we have to grow up, right?" He tilts my chin up gently. "Right?"

"Yeah," I manage.

"I'm going to miss you," he says.

"But we have to write ourselves new stories, right?" I ask. This makes him smile. "Right," he confirms. Then he holds out his hand for me to shake and says, "Friends?"

I ignore his hand and launch myself against him, sobbing into his shirt. He holds me tightly. But my tears run out quickly and I compose myself. "Make that best friends," I say, punching his arm slightly.

"Promoted." He grins. "So I guess Gale is moving up the hierarchy."

Blood floods my face. "You're blushing," says Peeta.

"Tell me something I don't know."

He laughs, and soon, I'm laughing with him. "But, really, Katniss. I know what you feel for Gale. I suggest you go for it. You have my blessing."

"Like I need _your_ blessing," I say, rolling my eyes. All at once, the baggage with Peeta's name on the tag disappears, to be replaced by a sort of light-filled room, if you want to have it metaphorically. I am witnessing positive change. I'm not _in love_ with Peeta anymore, but I would be stupid to think that I could stop loving him.

Peeta laughs even more, and his laugh is contagious. We're still laughing when he finally pushes the button to the ground floor, and I'm thinking, this isn't so bad.

This isn't so bad at all.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: I have a chapter more to write. Or two. Would you like an epilogue? Put your answer in the reviews or you could send me a message. Thanks for dropping by, lovelies. Review if you feel like it. :)_**


	24. Fire

That evening, we are summoned by the President. We stand before her now in her office. Paylor is looking better where the make-up conceals the bags under her eyes and the trails of tears on her cheeks. Her voice is steady and authoritative when she speaks, nothing like the weeping woman I grieved with. Still, I know she has been broken by an infliction no amount of power could heal. Sometimes I think it really will not be worth the effort to try.

"I speak for everyone in my command as I express my gratitude to you," Paylor begins, looking at all of us one by one. "I also sincerely apologize. We have all been wronged these past few days. The Capitol is open to you should you require its services. This is being recorded, ladies and gentlemen, and I also came up with the idea of formally, publicly announcing that the Hunger Games will forever be abolished. I will do it tomorrow in q quick ceremony, shown on television. It will be the last production that will be mandatory viewing. Every year, the day will be commemorated by a holiday."

I smile. So far, so good. I am not required to say anything. Paylor continues, "Aside from the people in this mansion and the late President Snow's mercenaries, nobody knows what has transpired this past week. I do not forbid you to repeat it to others, but I humbly request that you do not, for all our sakes. The remaining tributes are being treated, and once they recover, they will be free citizens. That will be all. What can I ever do to reward you?"

Silence, which nobody dares break, envelopes the room. I don't know what the others are thinking, but I have a feeling we're all on the same lines. After a while, Paylor nods. "Very well." She knows. She fully comprehends that the best thin she could offer us is freedom, that the greatest gift is the cutting of ties, so that we may never again be hurt by memories triggered by each other. "I understand your intent. This office will never bother you again." She smiles. "If it does-and I remind you that this is being recorded-you are free to shoot me on the head."

Soon after that, I catch myself wandering down the hall leading to Scylla's room. When I get there, I look through the glass window and sigh. I will probably never see her again, and that stream of thought is making me quite sad though I don't understand why-I don't even know her-when someone suddenly says, "You want to take her home, don't you?"

It's Gale, of course, looking at me knowingly. I don't even stop to wonder how he got here so quietly-I'm well aware of his stealth powers. I reply with a sound that is a mixture of a sigh and a laugh, and this draws a smile from Gale. "And now you're thinking about Prim," he says, getting it right again.

"Please stop reading my mind," I say and I realize that just this morning, I hurt him pretty badly but he is here with me anyway, talking and smiling like nothing happened. "I'm sorry," I amend quickly. "I'm sorry."

His smile fades. "Don't think about it, Catnip. I'm okay."

I look down and study the floor. Well, I can't say anything to that. So I talk about something else. "Do you think it's possible?" I ask him without looking up. "That I could, like, adopt her as a sister or something?"

"For starters, you can't adopt a sister. You adopt a child, like your child, your daughter. And Scylla's just as old as Prim." And just as simple as that, I'm slipping again. I finally look up. "You know what? Let's just forget about this," I say. "It's crazy, anyway. She might still have a family."

He shrugs. "Maybe."

"I just wanted to say goodbye to her or something." I feel like I owe her something, and as far as I can tell, I have a pretty gritty history when it comes to owing.

"Right now?" he asks.

"When else? We're leaving tonight, aren't we?"

"I used my winning charm to push our flight back one day."

"What for?"

"You may very well remember that our last date was tragically cut short," he says, his poster-boy smile slowly returning to his poster-boy face. "But if you don't want to go..."

"You'd invite a super-hot Capitol chick in tights and kinky heels instead," I complete.

He nods approvingly. "Ah, how you know me."

"Too bad, because I'm totally coming." When his smile widens, his eyes light up with real happiness. "That's cool," he says. I am thinking of a fitting response when Gale adds, "Wear that black dress again. I liked it." I roll my eyes, but I do return the smile.

* * *

><p>I don't bother going to Johanna for help with the preparation-I've already burdened her enough. Besides, it's totally out-of-character. So I simply choose a red dress from the rack of clothes in the closet, stick my hair down in its usual braid, slip into a pair of black flats, and call myself dressed. At eight pm sharp, Gale knocks on my door, wearing a crisp button-down shirt and his million-dollar smile. "It's another dress," he remarks.<p>

"I noticed."

"I like it, too."

"Nice suit."

"I know," he says. Laughing, he offers his arm to me and I take it willingly. "Where are we going?" I ask when we're on the elevator. He looks at me apologetically. "I really didn't have anything planned."

"So you went up and asked me out without a destination in mind?"

"Yes."

I smile. "Okay. All is well, Hawthorne. Take me anywhere. I'm coming."

We end up sitting side by side on the rooftop of an abandoned building looking out into the dark river, our feet dangling over the edge. Wrappers of greasy burgers long digested in our stomach lie crumpled behind us. The wind is getting quite rough and cold on my bare arms and legs, but I try not to notice it. This is nothing like our first date on the yacht. That was fun and free and spontaneous. This is strange and silent and awkward. We still talk about pretty much everything, but it doesn't take a genius to realize how calculated this whole affair is. We're both trying to be careful. For what, I don't know.

"Peeta is not coming back to Twelve," I say.

"Yeah, I heard. So how are you about it?"

"I'm okay. We're friends again."

There is a weird pause after that. "When you said you didn't love him anymore, you weren't lying, were you?"

I shake my head, suddenly annoyed. "I told you-"

I never get to finish my sentence, because Gale cuts me off by pressing his lips to mine. Surprised, I can only sit there, still as a rock, as he slowly, carefully kisses me, gently tracing the outline of my mouth with his. When he pulls away, he looks at me and I can only hope that I can count on the darkness to cover the flush on my cheeks. To save myself from saying anything, I lean forward and kiss him back. I think he smiles against my mouth. We leave our perch on the edge of the roof for fear of falling off the thing, but don't get far. The cold ceases being an object, because all I feel is Gale's heat.

The kiss lasts forever. And all that time, I'm thinking: _No, no, no. Don't be stupid._ I don't understand anything but my sudden need to feel something. A part of me clicks into place, and it feels so unbelievably good, until I think of Prim, and I sink again. This time, though, I think I have learned a vital lesson. I may sink, but someone is finally here to keep me from drowning.

Gale.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: Hi! Are you still there? Review if you feel like it, thanksies!_**


	25. Home

When dawn comes, the mechanisms inside me kick into gear almost automatically, declaring my body awake and ready for the day before I ever open my eyes. I stir, and realize with a sort of quiet relief that Prim did not visit me in my nightmares last night. Gale's arm is lean and strong beneath my head, and he soon wakes when he feels me moving. "Morning," he says.

"Morning." I made the decision to let him spend the night with me in a split second and I am glad I did. There is nothing wrong with sleeping beside your most trusted person, after all. Besides, we were so inexplicably drained, we fell asleep as soon as our bodies touched the mattress. I prop myself up on one elbow and study Gale: his hair is tousled, his eyes the tamest I've seen them, his smile the same old charming winner. "Brush your teeth," I say with a laugh, and he wrinkles his nose. "You need it, too. Did something die in your mouth?"

I shake my head, still laughing, and finally get up. I am still wearing my dress from last night, so it's creased everywhere. Gale races me to the bathroom and soon remembers that he doesn't have a toothbrush with him. Luckily, there's a spare one around-I give it to him without another word.

"I'm going to shower," I announce as soon as I finish with my teeth. Gale smirks. "_Alone_," I add. "Get out." He walks out with a slightly crooked gait that oozes with confident swagger. I lock the door, shinny out of my clothes, then program a simple cycle on the shower controls. As the water runs over my hair and my skin, my thoughts fall in Gale's direction. Naturally. What are we now? Never in my life did I actually imagine a future with him as something other than a friend. But here we are now, and there's a first time for everything.

Then, without warning, Prim takes center stage again. It's insane. It's as if because I managed to evade it completely last night, the pain is coming back to me now, hot and sharp. All I'm capable of thinking is how I'm betraying her. The kiss with Gale, which felt so perfect when it happened, suddenly morphs into a monstrosity, an unacceptable abomination, an utterly disgusting vilification of my dead sister's memory. _What is wrong with me?_

The water is making it hard to breathe.

_Prim. Just let me go. I loved you, and I love you still, but my dear sister, my whole life is ahead of me._ The wall hardly reacts, but I cry out through gritted teeth when I pound my head against the white tiles, once, and none too gently. Why did I even think of that? This might already be a sickness of the head. Yes. I am losing my sanity. It's a perfect explanation. This isn't real. Prim will want me to move on. _I don't want to._

My fingers fumble for the shower knob. Where is it? I can't see. There. I turn the knob and the downpour stops, leaving me colder than ever. My face is wet but I will never know if it's from the shower or from my tears.

The onslaught of memories is startling and weirdly resonant against the black backdrop of my probably troubled mind.

I was four when Prim was born. My first memory is carrying her small body, swathed in a thick bundle of fraying blankets, in my chubby four-year-old arms, all wobbly and unstable. I could hear my mother telling me, "Careful, now." I thought back then they were spoiling me. I know now that even then, they entrusted Prim to me as if they knew what tragedy awaited us. Then it was Prim's fifth birthday. We went skipping in the Meadow, gathering fruits from low trees and picking primroses and blowing dandelions. When she turned six, I gave her a pink bow for her hair. My father sang a song and the mockingjays fell silent in their perches in silent reverie. Prim turned seven, then the mines took our father away. He was no longer around to sing songs with his clarion voice, and I figured the mockingjays mourned as much as I did. Then Prim was ten, turning into a replica of our mother-from the intelligent blue eyes to the healing hands. It broke my heart seeing her wipe our father's shaving mirror with a piece of cloth, never missing a day. Our mother was locked away in a prison of her own creation and there was nothing we could do but struggle to survive on our own.  
>Then Prim was twelve. She was wearing my old dress when Effie Trinket clawed a slip of paper with my sister's name on it from the reaping bowl.<p>

The rest is blood.

My knees give way and I hit the floor, hard. I curse myself over and over again for being weak, but I go on crying while doing so. I hear a knock on the bathroom door but ignore it. Only after a minute do I realize that my wails might be audible outside and Gale must be concerned. I couldn't care less. Let me burn in my own hell.

I don't manage to pull myself together until after a half hour or so. I finish showering and don a warm robe, then catch myself in the mirror. My eyes are red and ugly. When I open the door, Gale is standing right there and he embraces me, much to my annoyance. "I heard you. What's wrong?" His voice is full of sympathy, and I hate it.

I wriggle out of his embrace and cross my arms over my chest. "I can't talk right now. Please leave me alone," I deliver with all the composure I could muster.

"Katniss, no. If you won't talk, fine. I'm staying until you feel okay."

I look up at him. "How can you even bear the thought of being with me? I'm a wreck! How can you stand me when I'm like this?"

"Just in case you've forgotten, I'm a wreck, too. While I know that two wrongs can't make a right, I also know that two negatives make a positive," he says. I glare at him. "Even without that horsecrap, I'm sticking around."

"Why?!" My voice rises to a shout. "Why, Gale? I can't do this. I'm just going to hurt you." I'm acutely aware of my state of being underdressed, but I am too preoccupied to care. Gale sits back down on the bed. "I love you, and you could hurt me until I die, but I will still love you. Love is a blasted thing. It consumed me whole, but only because I let it. I chose this." He looks at me and unless I'm imagining things, Gale has tears in his eyes. "I chose _you_, Katniss. I have no regrets."

* * *

><p>The only available landing strip in District Four is three kilometers from the coast, but even from this far, I can smell the ocean, salty and inviting. I kneel down and Finnick, Jr. plants a kiss on my cheek. "Bye-bye, Katniss," he says in his three-year-old articulation.<p>

"Bye, Finn." I hug him quickly then get back on my feet. Annie embraces me, too, and I only hesitate for a second before I return it. "Thank you for everything, Katniss." For what, I don't know. "I'm sorry for all the trouble," I say.

"Doesn't matter." She pulls away and I'm looking at her semi-bruised face. "Goodbye, then."

"Goodbye," I say.

"I will call you from time to time, okay? Maybe we'll visit once in a while."

"That will be great." I smile, then she turns to say goodbye to the others.

"I guess this is goodbye, now," someone says beside me. Peeta.

"I guess it is," I confirm.

"Well..."

"Well, what?"

"I've said everything I wanted to tell you. Seems like there's nothing more left to be said."

I smile. "Okay. Goodbye. I'll miss you. I'll see you again. All that stuff." I wrap my arms around him. He hugs me, too. After about two seconds, I hear him laughing. "Alright. I already talked to Gale."

I raise my eyebrow at him. "And what did you tell him?"

"If he hurts you, I'll know, and-"

"He'll kick my ass," Gale chimes in. "I know, bro. I know."

"That's good to hear, then," I say, laughing. "You'll beat the hell out of each other and I'll be trying to pry you apart, screaming my head off."

The boys nod. "True."

"I have to get going. We'll keep in touch," Peeta promises. He shakes Gale's hands and gives me a knowing look. Then he turns, carrying his luggage with him, and I watch him go until he's a speck in the distance. He never looks back.

* * *

><p>Two hours later, we are back in District 12. Nothing happens for the first week of our return, but one Sunday, Gale invites me to have dinner with them.<p>

Rory shows up at dinner with a blonde-haired-blue-eyed girl in tow. The girl's name is Suzy, Rory informs us. They are dating. "We've been gone less than a week," Gale says loudly. Rory shoots him a look but only says, "Yes, you have." I can't help but think that Gale and I are moving too quickly for our own good. Aren't we setting ourselves up for a colossal hurt?

"Hawthorne men move fast," teases Hazelle. "My husband and I met in school two weeks before graduation. Six months later, we were engaged."

"I didn't inherit that," Gale says, holding my hand under the table. "Took me five years to get the girl."

I roll my eyes. "Persistence is the key."

The food arrives soon, and we eat, telling good old tales across the table while filling ourselves with Hazelle's delicious cooking. We leave out Snow's play, only saying that the Games did not push through due to a few anomalies. Posy jumps in, saying that the last weeks of school are awesome, that she's studying for the final exams but she's having the time of her life. Vick says he got into the basketball team. Rory has nothing but good words for Suzy, his girlfriend. All Suzy does is smile and laugh with her hand covering her mouth, all proper and ladylike. When we're through with all the food, Gale takes me by the hand and leads me outside.

"I gotta help with the dishes," I say.

"Nah, it's okay."

"Where are we going?"

"Surprise, surprise."

"Seriously?"

We walk all the way to the square, where a black car is idling. One of the doors opens as we approach. The first thing I see is a crutch. Then feet in sandals. Then a pink dress. Then a face. "Hello, Katniss."

Scylla Crane.

At first, I can't say anything. "I don't have anywhere to go. My family is dead, and I don't want to be anywhere near the Capitol. I'm..I just-" she stammers, unable to go on, it seems. My heart breaks all of a sudden. My head spins, too, but Gale is by my side, ready to steady me. Just two weeks ago, I was prepared to take this little girl home with me. Now, the prospect is daunting.

Gale excuses us for a while, then he faces me. "Are you okay?" he asks. I nod.

"I can handle this," I say. Gale kisses me, once, very gently, and this makes me feel all warm and fuzzy and generally positive. "Okay, good," he says. "I thought you would want this." And I do, don't I? Can I really live the rest of my life near a girl that looks so much like my dead sister? I have no idea. But if I want to start healing, I have to pull open the curtains, right? The only way to know if I can survive is to try. I wrap my arms around Gale. "I can do this as long as you're here with me," I say into his shirt.

"That's about seventy years, tops," he says, sounding quite hopeful. His chest vibrates when he laughs.

I pull away, and we walk towards Scylla and the black car that could leave with or without her.

"Can I...can I stay here for a while?" Scylla finally asks.

"Yes. As long as you like."

The smile on her face reminds me of Prim. But I know now for sure that what I feel is no longer an incurable sense of dread. It's something else, something bright. Something to look forward to. Something to hold on to even when everything else is out of reach.

Hope.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: Working on the epilogue, so don't go just yet!_**


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